


The Running Man

by Sestra_Prior



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Drama, Explicit Language, M/M, Romance, Sexual Content, Slash sex, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-05-16
Updated: 2007-06-20
Packaged: 2018-09-30 12:27:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 69,227
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10163039
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sestra_Prior/pseuds/Sestra_Prior
Summary: Having defeated Voldemort, Harry is desperate to strike out on his own.  He applies for, and gets, the job of Defence Instructor at Dumstrang Institute.  There he finds new challenges, makes new friends, and falls in love





	1. Durmstrang

All characters (except my own creations) are the property of J K Rowling. I make no money from playing with them.

 

My sincere and humble thanks to my long-suffering beta, RaeWhit. Honey, you are the best. Without you I'd be lost, (Now, any chance of crossing something off the "Ways to Torture Sestra When She Visits" list?).

 

****

Durmstrang

“You’ve changed, you know,” Ron said bitterly.

“Is that so?” Harry turned over another page of the _Prophet_.

“Yeah, you’ve become a right miserable, selfish, bastard.”

“In that case you won’t mind going to the match on your own.”

Ron glared. “Fine, be like that. But don’t say I didn’t warn you when you’re sitting here all lonely, on your own.”

Harry finally looked up at his friend. “Do you know, Ron,” he said with feeling, “I would give a lot to be sat here on my own…without wondering who was going to turn up next to insist I _go_ somewhere or _do_ something. To be able to sit here and think that just for once I could do what _I_ wanted to do…instead of what everyone else _expected_ me to do.” Harry’s voice had begun to rise and he struggled to get himself back under control. “Just for some time for _me_ , Ron.” He stared at Ron helplessly, knowing that his old friend just wouldn’t understand. He was right.

“Suit yourself,” Ron snapped, and Apparated with a ‘crack’.

Harry let out a deep sigh and dropped his head onto the newspaper that was spread on the table before him. He felt weary, worn… _stretched_ somehow—feelings that had been getting steadily worse for the last twelve months.

 

****

****

The search for the Horcruxes had been long and gruelling, hampered at every turn by Voldemort and his minions; it was only when help came from a very unexpected source that Harry, Ron and Hermione’s luck had started to change.

Of course, when Severus Snape had first come to them with his offer of assistance, Harry had been ready to blast him into oblivion…despite Dumbledore’s memories that Harry had found in a Pensieve in the Headmaster’s private rooms. They had gone a long way to explain Snape’s part in the proceedings of that fateful night…the night of Dumbledore’s death. But Harry’s resentment of his old Professor ran deep, the wounds too jagged and raw to be healed that quickly.

But eventually he had been brought to realise that he needed the man’s help…and Snape himself had made an effort to be not quite so caustic and belittling.

Many had fallen before the final showdown. Colin Creevy, Susan Bones, Fred Weasley…many others…until Hermione herself had been killed, something Harry would never forgive himself for. She had been his anchor, his voice of reason. Her calm intelligence had wound itself into his life so deeply that when it had been ripped away so terribly, Harry felt adrift, unable to think clearly. It was Ron who had saved him. The red-head, grief-stricken already over the loss of one of his brothers, had been devastated by the death of his fiancée, but he had seemed to draw on some deep inner courage and it had been he who had held Harry through the painful tears and led his friend back onto the road that led to Harry’s destiny…the final defeat of Lord Voldemort.

And then had come the constant round of parties: celebrations to mark the Wizarding world’s emergence into sunshine after years of living under the shadow of the threat that was Voldemort.

Harry had gone with the flow, too tired and numb to put up any resistance to being dragged to occasion after occasion, feted as the Man Who Conquered, the Hero, the Saviour. He had complied with their wishes until it felt as if he had no will left. And who was he to deny them? After all, all they wanted to do was thank him. But his replies to their well-wishes had become automatic and he began to experience a feeling of sickness, a churning, a _rebellion_. Yes, he had to allow the World to show its appreciation of all he had done for them, but surely they had had their fill?

And perhaps they had, the invitations began to slow. However it seemed that as one burden was gently lifted from his shoulders, another arrived to take its place; for it seemed his friends had some notion that Harry was not to be left on his own. His little house at Godric’s Hollow, re-built after his defeat of Voldemort, became like a meeting place…there was always someone coming or going, stopping in to chat, to drink tea, or to persuade him, as Ron had been trying to do, to accompany them to some Quidditch match or other. Harry appreciated his friends’ concern; after all, in the beginning, in the days just after the final battle, they had all felt the need to be surrounded by the ones they loved, but now their care for his well-being had become cloying to the point that Harry seriously started to feel claustrophobic.

 

****

****

Harry sighed deeply again and slowly raised his head, bringing his eyes to focus on the paper in front of him. He had been turning the pages randomly as Ron had been speaking; his mind focused on what his friend had been saying, despite his eyes being on the newspaper. Now he truly focused on the print…and found himself looking at the ‘Jobs’ page.

And that was another thing. He had mentioned to his friends that he thought he might like a job. The response had been negative. From Ron’s incredulous, “But you have heaps of money…what do you want to work for?” through George Weasley’s sad offer of a full partnership in the Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes business, to Remus Lupin’s gentle, “Well, perhaps in a few months, Harry. See how you go, okay?” as if he were afraid to let Harry out into the world on his own. Harry knew he was a little fragile after all that he had gone through, after seeing so much death and destruction, after going through so much to discover and destroy the Horcruxes, but he had lately begun to feel that if he didn’t escape the web of care being spun around him…branch out on his own…do something positive, for himself, he would lose the ability to do so and fade away…simply becoming a living embodiment of the Wizarding world’s perception of him—a breathing statue, a living testimonial to his own accomplishments…and nothing more.

He began to scan the adverts in front of him…until he came to one that held his attention, made him sit up and re-read.

 

****

DURMSTRANG INSTITUTE OF WIZARDY AND WITCHCRAFT

HAS AN OPENING FOR THE FOLLOWING POSITION

DEFENCE INSTRUCTOR

JOB TO COMMENCE JANUARY

ALL FOUND, GENEROUS SALARY

EXPERIENCE OF TEACHING A PLUS BUT NOT ESSENTIAL

Apply in the first inst. To Headmaster Vladimir Pushkin

Harry let out the breath he had been unconsciously holding. This was it, the answer to everything. A job, a fresh start somewhere new, and doing what he was good at…and if one squinted really hard, one could say that Harry had experience of teaching; after all, hadn’t he taught a whole group of students in his fifth year at Hogwarts, with some pretty impressive results, even if he did say so himself?

He read through the advertisement again and made up his mind to apply; after all, there was no harm in writing—at worst the headmaster could only say ‘no’, so he had nothing to lose.

There was a sudden knocking on the front door and Remus Lupin’s voice calling out, “Hello? Harry? You there? Can I come in?” As Remus had by this time already made it to the kitchen, Harry deemed the last question to be rhetorical. He quickly folded up the newspaper and placed it carefully on the dresser behind him, determined to respond to the advert as soon as he had a moment to himself.

 

****

****

Harry was incredibly surprised when a letter, bearing a heavy red wax seal decorated with a ship under full sail, arrived in the post for him two weeks later.

‘Dear Mr Potter,’ it read. ‘Further to your correspondence of the twenty-fifth of November, I have great pleasure in offering you the position of Defence Instructor, to commence sixth of January.’

It went on to detail salary and travel arrangements and finished with a request to inform the headmaster if he, Mr Potter, was no longer interested in the position, or had been employed elsewhere in the meantime.

Harry dashed off a quick note to assure Headmaster Pushkin that he would be delighted to accept the position and looked forward to arriving at Durmstrang on the sixth of January. 

Then he sat back and tried to decide just how to tell his friends that he had gone and done something without referring to any one of them, or asking their advice…or their permission.

 

****

****

His friends had taken it even worse than he had anticipated. Remus Lupin appeared to have been elected spokesperson and he had sat Harry down in the kitchen at Godric’s Hollow and, in his gentle way, had attempted to persuade Harry as to the inadvisability of his intentions.

“If you want to teach, Hogwarts would be more than happy to offer you a position,” he had said reasonably.

“As far as I am aware, Hogwarts already has a very competent DADA teacher,” Harry had pointed out.

“Professor Parsons would be more than happy to step down if you want the position.”

Harry looked at Lupin with a scandalised expression. “You really mean you would expect someone to give up their job just so that I could have it?”

“Harry,” Remus said softly, “The Wizarding world owes you a lot more than a job. If you want to teach DADA at Hogwarts, then the job is yours.”

“I already have a job teaching DADA,” Harry said firmly.

“But at Durmstrang!” Lupin said desperately. “Harry, you have no idea. It is so far away, and bleak and cold. You’ll be alone,” he added, as if this argument, above all others, might persuade Harry to stay at home.

“Remus, I know you mean well, but this is something I have to do…don’t you see? I have to make my own way…do something for _me_ , the way _I_ want to do it.” Seeing Lupin’s stricken face, Harry added gently, “It’s not that I don’t appreciate all that you’ve done for me, Remus, but it’s time for me to go out on my own. I’ve spent most of my life doing what was expected of me…doing what other people told me I had to do. Let me do this on my own; let me make my own way for a while. I promise, if I’m not happy, if it doesn’t work out, I’ll come home and do whatever anyone wants me to do. But give me this time, this chance? Please?”

Lupin had nodded sadly and agreed, but Harry had been left with the feeling that he had let everyone down, disappointed them somehow.

 

****

****

He had Flooed as far as Bucharest, as per the instructions on the headmaster’s letter. On exiting the building that had housed the international Floo connection, he had come face to face with an amazing sight. On the cobbled yard in front of him, a carriage had been drawn up—and harnessed to it, the most enormous bear that Harry had ever seen. He had been met by a surly man, who reminded Harry more of a wolf than a human being. All that could be seen of him was the bit of face between eyebrows and bottom lip, enveloped as he was by a long fur coat, whose collar had been pulled up, and a round fur hat. His eyes were dark and glittered in a rather worrying way; his cheeks were stubbled, and when he grinned he revealed sharp, white, pointed teeth. Harry was ushered to the black, bear-drawn carriage, his luggage slung on top of the coach, and the door slammed shut as soon as he had pulled his cloak inside. Harry had sat with a bone-jarring thump as the carriage lurched off.

The carriage was bitingly cold and Harry began to wonder if surviving the trip to the castle was actually part of an initiation test designed to ascertain whether he was qualified to teach at Durmstrang…or not. The warming spell he had cast seemed to have had little to no effect on the chill that was seeping into the dark, musty carriage interior through the loose-fitting door.

That had been four hours ago. Now the excitement and novelty of the situation had worn off and Harry was cold, hungry, sore and battered. He had given up trying to find a part of his bottom that hadn’t gone numb, and there was even a small voice in his head that had begun to whisper that maybe everyone had been right, that maybe he should have gone to teach at Hogwarts, if teaching was what he wanted to do. Instead of trekking out here to the middle of nowhere, he could be safely ensconced in a suite of comfy, warm rooms at Hogwarts, among friends and familiarity.

He cursed fluidly as a particularly violent lurch caused his head to crack against the unpadded seat back.

Dragging his wand from his pocket, he cast another heating spell, putting all his conviction into it; the air in the carriage rose marginally for a few moments, before returning to the previous tomb-like cold. Harry dragged his cloak more tightly around him, gritted his teeth and turned to the landscape outside to take his mind off his frozen feet. 

Mountains, lots of mountains—the majority of which were wearing a blanket of deep snow. Closer to, tall, black fir trees stood like silent sentinels, lining the road. It was a drear, uninviting landscape, one which would cause even the most cheerful of spirits to sink.

Another lurch and Harry caught sight of a pair of huge stone gateposts as the carriage rolled past and he craned out of the window to watch as his destination hove into view.

The school stood on a high plateau, a looming black castle whose walls were punctuated at intervals by towers. On either side of the castle, Harry could see great forests of pine trees. Behind the school a jagged peak rose like a snow-smeared fang into the steel-grey sky. There seemed to be no other way onto the plateau except across the spit of land they had just crossed.

They crossed a barren piece of ground, rutted with mud and snow, and drew closer to the main central building. Two great, soaring towers served as gate-houses, before which a moat was an added defence…against what? Harry shivered as the carriage rattled over the wooden draw-bridge and he caught sight of the frozen water below the narrow crossing, under the huge teeth of a portcullis and then between the forbidding towers into the heart of the castle. Cobbles now rang beneath the iron rimmed wheels until the great bear lurched to a panting halt and silence fell, deafening in its intensity. 

Harry opened the door and jumped out of the carriage. A bad move as it turned out; his legs were numb from the long period of inactivity and buckled as soon as they hit the frozen ground. He was saved from an ignominious sprawl on the floor by a hand that clutched his elbow and heaved him back to his feet.

“Velcome, Mister Potter. I trust ze journey vas not too arduous for you?”

A man stood by his side, swathed in dark grey furs from neck to heels. His face was pale and his eyes were as dark as the night-black hair that hung down onto his shoulders. A fur hat was perched on his head.

“Come, let us get you inside and varmed up.”

Harry gratefully followed the man as he was led to a heavy, dark oak door set in a stone archway. The man twisted the great iron ring handle and ushered Harry inside. Glancing back as he entered the building, Harry noticed that it had started to snow. He caught a glimpse of the great bear being unharnessed from the coach before the door was slammed shut.

It took a little while for his eyes to become accustomed to the comparative darkness; for here at Durmstrang there were no quantities of brightly burning torches, no floating candles, just one bracket that contained a barely smouldering bundle of twigs. The man who had greeted him lifted it down and, beckoning to Harry to follow him, proceeded down the stone-flagged corridor.

Hogwarts corridors, on the whole, had been wide, well lit, and with high ceilings—and there was always the scent of outside, blown through the open windows, even in the coldest weather. Here at Durmstrang the passageways were narrow, musty and smelt of damp. They reminded Harry rather unpleasantly of underground tunnels. The torches, such as there were, were placed so far apart from one another that the pools of light only just touched, and even, in places, were separated by an eerie dusk.

For perhaps ten minutes, Harry was led along the corridors and just as he had decided they were never going to reach their destination before his feet froze solid, the passage opened out into a huge hall.

There was rather more light here, shed by brackets of brown wax candles that gave off an oily smoke which curled up to the high vaulted ceiling and gathered there in a small, dark cloud. There was a huge fireplace in the centre of the room, around which were clustered groups of chairs and sofas. Not the cheery furniture found at Hogwarts, but great, monstrous creations that looked as if they might just as easily eat you as allow you to sit on them.

“Here he is,” the man called out. And now Harry could see that figures occupied some of the chairs and that there had indeed been a rumble of muted conversation that had ceased on his arrival.

“Professors, Mister Harry Potter, our new Defence teacher.” His guide turned to Harry. “How remiss of me, Mister Potter. I am Sergei Vostock, I teach Charms. Now, take zis seat here and get yourself varm. Your baggage has been sent to your rooms and dinner vill be served in,” he stated as he glanced at his watch, squinting in the poor light, “about half an hour. Make yourself comfortable, do.”

He pushed Harry into the chair he had indicated. “I must go,” Sergei added. “I have duties to attend to.” And with that he spun about and hurried off.

Harry sat nervously down on the chair, and started pulling off his cloak.

“I should leave that on, if I were you,” came a voice from his left. Harry turned to find a man sprawled in the chair next to his. “That fire might look big, but then again in a room this size, it is as a match flame in a cathedral.”

Harry nodded his thanks and retied the string fastening.

“I am Alex Johnson, by the way.” The man stretched his hand across the gap between their two chairs. “I teach Ancient Runes to the upper years.”

“Pleased to meet you, Alex.” Harry shook the proffered hand firmly.

The man went on, “Over there we have Robert Llewellyn.” 

A large, blonde-haired man raised his hand in greeting. 

“He teaches Transfiguration. Ah, Dmitri Kanchenco, who is our Potions master.” He continued to introduce the circle of men until he reached the figure immediately to Harry’s right. “And of course you already know our resident celebrity, Viktor, our Quidditch instructor.”

The man rose from his seat and Harry was dragged to his feet and enveloped in a bear-like hug. Released, he found himself face to face with none other than Viktor Krum, who now grinned and thumped Harry on the shoulder. “Velcome, Harry. I am looking forward to flying vith you.”

He released Harry, who sunk back into his chair and gazed round at the other Professors. “But do you have no women teachers?” he asked.

Alex laughed. “An eye to the main chance already, Harry?”

As Harry had recently decided that his preferences lay in an entirely different direction, he merely blushed, thankful that the ill-lit hall covered his embarrassment.

“Indeed we do,” Alex went on. “But they have more sense than to sit in this smoky hall and risk freezing their balls off.”

“Alex, my friend, if you think vomen have balls, then you are more of an innocent than I thought!” Dmitri teased.

There was some ribald laughter and a light-hearted bantering started up, during which Viktor pulled his chair closer to Harry’s.

“You know, ven I heard you ver coming, I thought that I vas out of job, until I learnt that you ver to teach Defence.”

“But what are you doing here?” Harry asked. “The last I heard you were playing for the Moscow Dynamos.”

Viktor looked regretfully at his legs that were stretched out in front of him; he tapped one of them with a fist. “Injured; one of the problems vith being a _celebrity_ is that everyone is out to get you.”

“Tell me about it,” Harry said with feeling.

“I can still fly,” Viktor went on, “but I no longer haff the stamina to play for any length of time.”

Harry pulled a face of sympathy. “That’s a real shame, you were brilliant.”

Viktor laughed. “You vere not so bad yourself, Harry. In fact I am surprised that you haff not pursued a career in Quidditch. Vat vas it? You ver the youngest Seeker at Hogwarts in a century?”

“Yep. But no, I never really thought of it as a career. Ron, my friend, the one with the ginger hair….”

Viktor’s face darkened. “Ah, yes, the one that Hermoninny chose over me?” He paused awkwardly. “I vas very sorry to hear of her demise,” he went on. “She was a special person.”

Harry nodded, swallowing the lump that had suddenly formed in his throat. “Yes she was, very special. I miss her,” he added softly. There were a few moment’s silence, then Harry went on. “Well, Ron,” he continued, going back to their original topic of conversation, “he plays for the Chudley Cannons now.” 

Their conversation was interrupted by a huge boom that sounded through the castle. Harry nearly leapt from his seat. “What the bloody hell was _that_?”

“That, Harry, my friend, is the dinner gong,” Alex supplied.

Indeed the other professors were rising to their feet and making their way towards a door to the left of the hall. Harry followed, Viktor at his side.

“So, how long have you been here?” he queried.

“This vill be my second year.”

“And how long did it take you to find your way around?” Harry asked, thinking of the size of the buildings he had seen.

Viktor laughed. “There are only three places you need to know how to find—your rooms, the dining room, and your classroom!” He glanced down at Harry and grinned; slapping the shorter man on the back he added, “Really, there is no need to vorry, Harry. It is not as hard as it looks, there are many parts of the castle that are closed off, it is really only the central part that ve use, and there is always someone about to ask the vay.”

They entered now into a slightly smaller hall. Instead of there being long tables and benches, as at Hogwarts, there were round tables that could seat eight to ten people, scattered around the room. There were two fireplaces opposite each other, only one of which was lit—the one nearest the tables that had been set up for the teachers. Just as the group of men entered from one side of the hall, a door opposite opened and a small group of chattering women entered; they all came together around the tables and Viktor pulled Harry into a seat next to him, whilst on Harry’s other side, a dark, curly-haired woman sank onto a chair.

“I am Marta,” she introduced herself. “You are welcome here, Harry. I hope you will be very happy.”

Harry shook the proffered hand. “I’m pleased to be here, Marta, and I shall certainly do my best to be happy.”

They had all seated themselves when another man entered the dinning hall.

“Our illustrious headmaster,” Viktor whispered. “Vladimir Pushkin.” 

The teachers rose as the man approached, Harry with them, sitting down only when Pushkin had taken his own seat. After that there was only one empty seat, at Harry’s table.

“I see Valentin is not with us this evening,” Marta remarked just as dinner arrived, and suddenly Harry realised how famished he was.

It wasn’t the lavish spread he had been used to at Hogwarts, with a variety of choices. Here at Durmstrang meals were rather simpler. A huge earthenware bowl of stew appeared in the centre of the table, along with a great basket of bread rolls, a bowl of vegetables and several pitchers of a ruby-coloured liquid.

There was a steady hum of conversation as everyone helped themselves to the food and wine. Harry took his first tentative mouthful of the stew and was pleasantly surprised to find it was rich and tasty.

“I am afraid it is not to Hogwarts’ standards,” Viktor remarked.

“It’s very good,” Harry said, between mouthfuls. 

Not only was the stew delicious, but the bread was warm, fresh and crusty and Harry had several pieces, going with the flow when he noticed the others using their bread to mop up their gravy.

Harry was not a regular drinker and the wine served with the meal was a heavy burgundy; by the end of the first goblet-full, he was feeling decidedly warmer and slightly squiffy.

After the stew, a huge plate of cheeses arrived, along with more bread and biscuits. There was a pat of rich, yellowy butter to accompany them and Harry was completely full by the time the headmaster rapped on the table to get their attention.

He rose to his feet and addressed the assembled teachers. “Firstly I wish to welcome Mister Potter to the position of Defence professor. We are honoured to have you, Mister Potter.” The other professors applauded whilst Harry blushed and acknowledged their welcome with a raised hand and a nod of gratitude. Pushkin went on to give a variety of notices that meant very little to Harry, who was by now feeling the effects of a heavy meal on top of a long journey. He yawned spectacularly.

Pushkin threw back his head and laughed. “As Mister Potter has just effectively reminded me, it is late and he has had a long day. Class dismissed!”

The other professors started to scrape back their chairs and Harry did likewise.

“I’ll show you to your room, Harry,” Viktor offered.

“Oh, thanks, Viktor. I have to admit I’m feeling pretty tired.”

Krum was about to lead Harry out of the dining room when he was stopped by a hand on his arm. “Viktor, if you will allow me?” Pushkin stood at Krum’s elbow. “I know it is late, but I have some things I wish to discuss with Mister Potter and if he will permit me to show him to his room, we can perhaps talk on the way.” He arched an eyebrow in silent question.

Viktor took a step back. “Of course. I vill see you at breakfast, Harry. And once again, I am happy that you are here.”

Pushkin led Harry through a side door out of the hall, and into a wide passageway. He turned to his companion. “I trust you had a reasonable journey here, Mister Potter?”

“It was fine, thank you, sir.”

Pushkin stopped and turned to Harry. “Please, Mister Potter, I am sufficiently confident in my position not to have to insist on everyone addressing me as either ‘Headmaster’ or ‘sir’; perhaps, if you were to call me Vlad, I might be permitted to call you Harry?”

“Please do, sir, sorry, V…Vlad.” Harry glanced up at the man by his side. Pushkin was perhaps fifty-five to sixty years of age, dark haired with just a smattering of grey at his temples. His eyes sparkled with intelligence, and some humour, Harry thought. He was taller than Harry, but then he was used to most men being taller than him; his years of semi-malnutrition had put paid to any question of him attaining a reasonable height.

They began to walk again, proceeding up a winding flight of stone steps.

“I am sorry that you could not meet Valentin tonight, your counterpart as it were.” Pushkin commented.

“My… _counterpart_?” Harry asked, confused.

Pushkin glanced at him. “Ah, yes. We do things a little differently here at Durmstrang, Harry. Here we have a _Defence_ Instructor, and an _Offence_ Instructor…Valentin.”

Harry stopped abruptly. “You actually _teach_ the Dark Arts?” he demanded, his weariness forgotten in his outrage.

Pushkin had halted when Harry had stopped. He regarded Harry a moment before speaking, and when he did it was not to answer Harry’s question but to ask one of his own. “What _are_ the Dark Arts, Harry?”

Harry, thrown by the turn of question, was confused for a moment before he answered, “Why, any spell that is Dark…the Unforgivables.”

“Hmm, well, yes, there is no denying that the Unforgivables are Dark, Harry, but then so is, oh, let me see…the Scouring Charm.”

Harry frowned. “What? How can _Scourgify_ be a Dark Spell? I use it all the time.”

Pushkin began to walk again and Harry followed him. At last Pushkin spoke. “What do you think would happen if you cast _Scourgify_ at a person, Harry?”

“They’d get clean?”

“Yes…the first time the spell was cast. But do you know exactly _how_ the Scouring Charm works?”

Harry thought for a moment and then shook his head. “Erm, no, I suppose not.”

“It removes a very thin layer from whatever it is cast at…so, if you cast it at your dirty cauldron, it takes off a layer of the cauldron’s metal…and in doing so, the dirt that is adhered to it…do you see?” Pushkin glanced at Harry, who nodded.

“Yes, I see that.”

“If the spell is cast at a person it has the same effect, Harry…a very thin layer is removed from the person’s skin. And then, if the spell is cast again, another layer is removed…again, and another layer. Do you follow?”

Indeed Harry did and his face twisted as his mind filled in the details of what would happen if the spell was cast over and over.

“ _Intent_ , Harry, that is what makes a spell Dark, _intent_. Not the spell itself…except of course for the three…although,” Vlad went on reflectively, “I’ve seen Muggle magicians perform something very akin to _Imperious_ for the amusement of other Muggles.”

“Oh, hypnotists?”

“Is that what they are called? Ah, here we are.”

Pushkin had stopped outside a doorway, and Harry had no idea how they had got there. 

“I hope you do not mind, but I have placed you in the East Tower; it is a quiet part of the school, but Valentin has his quarters here and I believe it will be convenient for you two to be near each other—after all, you have to co-ordinate your lesson plans.” Seeing Harry’s look of confusion, he went on. “You and he are partners, so to speak. You will plan your lessons so that what he teaches, you will teach the counter to.” Vlad laughed ruefully. “Valentin is very skilled and I’m afraid he will be a challenge to your ingenuity, young Harry, but I have no doubt you will be a match for him. There has been some, ah, _friendly rivalry_ in the past between our Offence and Defence teachers!”

He turned and opened the door to Harry’s quarters with a pass of his hand. “Here, please.” He ushered Harry in before him, then entered the room on Harry’s heels. “Your baggage has been brought up and unpacked for you. I trust you will find everything to your satisfaction; we are not quite up to Hogwarts standards of luxury, but we like to think we can make you comfortable. Please reset the wards around your room to your own password...but if you would be so kind as to let me know what your password is? Now, I’m sure you must be tired so I will leave you. Valentin will call for you in the morning and show you to breakfast.”

He gazed at Harry for a minute longer. “I sense you are still not happy with what we teach here, Harry, but perhaps, if you will think it over for the night, you can let me know in the morning if you feel you are prepared to stay…or if you wish to leave. Goodnight.” And with that, he left, closing the door softly after him, leaving Harry to gaze around at his new surroundings.

 

****

****

The room was large, and shadowy where not lit by the fire that burned in the stone fireplace and the candles that flickered in the metal sconces on the walls. Opposite the door was a large four poster bed, carved from some heavy, black-coloured wood and hung with deep blue velvet hangings. On either side of the bed were curtains which Harry assumed had been drawn across windows. In front of the fire, which stood in the wall to Harry’s right, were two leather armchairs, flanking a thick fur rug. On the wall on the left, opposite the fireplace, was a desk, a chair, and a bookcase which held perhaps a dozen books; Harry recognised some of the titles as those he had brought with him and briefly wondered who had unpacked his belongings. There was a door leading off the main room, to the far side of the fireplace, and Harry crossed the room to see where it led.

It opened into a tiled bathroom, complete with a large sunken bath. A number of taps were ranged along one end and Harry decided that a hot bath was just what he needed to thaw out his cold bones. Whilst the dining room had been a little warmer than the big hall, the walk from there to his rooms had been along chilled corridors, and the cold had once more sunk into his body through the cloak he now realised was completely inadequate in this freezing environment.

He was just about to go and figure out which was the hot tap when he was startled by the sudden arrival of a house-elf. It popped into existence by his side, wringing its hands and looking woebegone. “Already Festus has failed in his duties,” it squeaked. “Festus was not here to greet the Master.”

“That’s all right,” Harry said reassuringly, biting back the bubble of laughter that had threatened to spill out at mention of the elf’s name. “I’ve only just got here…I was about to run a bath,” he added. “Do you happen to know which the hot tap is?”

The elf looked scandalised. “Master is not to be running his own bath; that is Festus’ job. Festus is Mister Harry Potter’s personal elf, Sir. Whatever Master Harry wants…Festus will do his best to accomplish it, Sir.”

“My _personal_ elf?”

“Indeed, Sir, all the professors here at Durmstrang have their own personal house-elf, Sir. It is a great honour for us elves to be picked to serve in this way.” The little elf beamed at Harry. “Now, sir, Festus will run Master Harry a bath, then is there anything else I can get for you? A cup of hot chocolate perhaps?”

Harry nodded his head. “Yes, actually that would be great, thanks.”

The house-elf twisted its hands in the tunic it was wearing, “Ah, so it is true, the great Harry Potter is kind to we elves, Festus is lucky, so lucky to be serving such a great, kind and wise master, yes indeed.” It stood, gazing adoringly up at Harry until Harry, trying not to blush with embarrassment, reminded the elf about his bath.

 

****

****

When Harry emerged from his bath, thoroughly thawed out by the hot, scented water, he found a steaming mug of cocoa on a tray on his bedside table. Accompanying it was a small plate of biscuits. Harry hurriedly slipped between the crisp, white sheets of the bed, expecting them to be cold—instead they were warm and toasty and Harry burrowed beneath the heavy covers until there was only enough of him left outside to drain his hot chocolate and crunch up two of the biscuits, which he found to be a delicious honey flavour. Then, his mind returning to the problem of Durmstrang teaching Offensive magic, he snuggled down, and in next to no time, the effects of the long day overtook him and he slipped into sleep. 


	2. Durmstrang

  
Author's notes: Harry gets to meet the Offence teacher  


* * *

**Valentin**

When Harry awoke the following morning, the first pale grey wisps of dawn were drifting into his room around the edges of the curtains. The fire was already burning brightly in the hearth and a steaming hot cup of tea had been placed on his bed-side table. He sat up and, whilst drinking his tea, watched the room slowly reveal itself as the day dawned and the light became stronger. He had gained an impression of dark walls, dark furniture and gloom the night before, lit, as the room had been, by the flickering candlelight. By day the reality was revealed to be somewhat less forbidding.

The walls were actually painted a soft green colour where they were not panelled, and the carpet on the floor was also green, albeit a darker, mossy green. The two chairs by the fire looked well-worn and comfortable, the leather shiny from use; a small round table on a slim pedestal stood by each, a handy receptacle for a glass of wine or a cup of tea.

As he regarded his room, Harry thought once more about Vlad’s words of the night before...and knew that he was going to stay. He had turned over the question of the ethics of actually _teaching_ the offensive magic whilst lying in his bath the night before. Despite all he had gone through, Harry had had a very black and white view on what constituted the Dark Arts, now his mind had been changed somewhat. And the more he thought about it, the more he thought that if actual attack spells were going to be taught at Durmstrang whether he was here or not...then he would rather be here. That way he could at least monitor what was going on, and report to the relevant authorities if he felt it to be necessary. There was also a sneaking part of him that had bristled at Pushkin’s assumption that he might find Valentin to be more adept than he was; Harry wasn’t conceited, but he had a fair regard for his own abilities when it came to defence against spells...he doubted there was much that the Offence teacher could throw at him that he couldn’t handle.

And then there was the whole running back to his friends thing. He could just see their sympathetic faces if he returned home before the new term had actually begun, hear their sympathetic words and their understanding comments.

His mind finally made up, Harry scrambled out of bed and into his dressing gown, that had been hung, no doubt by his house-elf, on a small peg by the head of the bed. He went to the window and drew back the heavy curtains...and found that his room must be on one side of the castle, because if he looked to the left, he could just see the road by which he had approached Durmstrang the day before. In front of him, just across the frozen moat, stretched the pine forest, the branches of the trees heavy with the snow that must have fallen in the night; it continued to his right, as far as he could see.

Wondering what time it was, Harry glanced at his watch...and was alarmed to see it was nearly eight-thirty. Although it was a Sunday, he had no idea what time breakfast was served here at Durmstrang and as his stomach gave a loud rumble at that point, he realised that missing the meal was not an option. Glancing around, his eyes fell on a large armoire and he was just about to explore its depths when Festus ‘popped’ into the room and insisted on being allowed to get out Harry’s clothes. Thus it was that Harry was ready to go when there was a knock on his door twenty minutes later. The Offence teacher had come to collect him.

Valentin was a tall, well-built man; long black hair was tied neatly at the nape of his neck, and eyebrows as dark as a raven’s wing arched on a pale forehead over dark grey eyes. He was dressed entirely in black and Harry immediately thought of Severus Snape—the man had the same brooding presence. 

“Mister Potter.” It was a statement rather than a question.

Harry nodded and stretched out his hand. “And you must be Valentin? Pleased to meet you.”

He wasn’t absolutely certain, but Harry thought that Valentin hesitated for just a moment, before he reached out and took Harry’s hand, enveloping it in one that was slim and strong. He gazed up into Valentin’s dark eyes and wondered what he could possibly have done to offend the man, because Valentin looked as cold as the landscape around the castle—there was no smile on his lips and no warmth in the grey eyes.

“Pleased to meet you too…Mister Potter.”

He sounded anything but. Harry had assumed, because of his name, that Valentin must be of European descent, but his voice was most definitely English. There was almost something familiar about it, but before Harry could dwell too much on that fact, Valentin released his hand and turned away down the corridor. Harry hurried after him, trying to remember the many twists and turns they took to reach the great dining hall.

As the night before, two tables had been laid before the fireplace and several of the professors were already seated, helping themselves to the victuals spread out before them. Harry was relieved to see that Viktor was one of them and, with a mumbled excuse, he left his guide and went to sit with the Quidditch Coach. He knew that he should perhaps have made more of an effort to get to know the man who was to be his teaching partner, but at the moment everything was too new and Harry sought out the one bit of familiarity in the scene. Viktor welcomed him and the pair chatted happily about various Quidditch teams until only themselves and Valentin were left seated.

Breakfast had been a casual affair, teachers coming and going as they saw fit, helping themselves to the porridge, and to the plates of sausages and bacon, the piles of boiled eggs and the toast and coffee, until they were sated; then they would depart upon whatever business they had to attend to. 

Finally Harry could no longer ignore the fact that Valentin was waiting for him to finish his meal. He was just about to bid farewell to Viktor when Krum beat him to it.

“Vell, Harry, I must go and get some vork done…I’m sure you haff lessons that need to be prepared also. I vill see you at lunch, yes?” Krum got to his feet, scraping back his chair, and made his way from the dining hall…leaving Harry staring awkwardly at Valentin. It seemed the older man was in no rush to put Harry at his ease. Instead he lounged in his chair and regarded Harry stonily.

Finally Valentin broke the heavy silence. “Well, well, well, so the great Harry Potter considers himself qualified enough to teach Defence, does he?”

Harry lifted his chin. “Yes, as a matter of fact I do,” he retorted, with a confidence he certainly wasn’t feeling. “I think defeating Voldemort prepared me to a _certain_ extent,” he added, rather sarcastically.

“Hmm. With help.”

“What?”

“With help, Mister Potter, you defeated the Da…Voldemort with help. Here you will have no-one but yourself to rely on…no little band of helpers…no Severus Snape.”

“You seem to know a lot about it.” Harry glared at Valentin.

The older man shrugged. “I made it my business to find out all I could about my new counterpart.”

“Yes, it’s true I had help,” Harry said, getting angry, “but I think you will find that I’m a match for you.”

Valentin lifted an eyebrow. “Do you really think so? Well, we shall have to see, won’t we? I just hope you last longer than the last _three_ Defence professors.”

“Th… _three_?”

“Three, Mister Potter,” Valentin said with relish. “Of course, they probably weren’t as _qualified_ as yourself.” He rose fluidly to his feet. “Shall we?”

“What?”

“Lessons, Mister Potter, we have lessons to prepare.” Suddenly Valentin was all business. “If you will follow me, I shall show you our classrooms and then we can discuss the term’s syllabus.”

Valentin led the way along a series of corridors and up and down a number of staircases. Harry wasn’t sure, but he had a sneaking suspicion that the older man was leading him in a circle. Finally they came to a wide double door; this Valentin threw open to reveal a large room beyond. On either side of the room were stands of seats, as if to accommodate an audience. Tall windows in the end of the room let in the weak winter sunshine that was attempting to banish some of the chill.

“Your classroom,” Valentin said, and Harry returned his attention to the man beside him—to find that Valentin was pointing to a door in the right hand wall, almost hidden behind the rows of seats. “Mine is there.” Valentin pointed to a corresponding door on the left. “Here…” He indicated with a sweep of his hand. “…is where we shall come together and see…what we shall see.”

Harry knew with certainty that what Valentin had actually been going to say was, “see…which one of us is the best”.

“I hope you don’t mind,” Valentin went on, “but I have put together a few lessons already...of course, if you have something else in mind?” He didn’t bother waiting for Harry’s answer; confident, perhaps, that Harry would be willing to follow his lead, he simply turned to his classroom door. Hesitantly Harry followed him.

Valentin’s classroom was half the size of the main room. The light was subdued, coming as it did from only two windows, high up in the end wall. Around the side walls were diagrams and pictures.

The desks had been arranged in a large semi-circle around a low dais. Valentin noticed the direction of Harry’s gaze. “I find this arrangement discourages inattention,” he explained. “Everyone has a front seat...and no-one to hide behind.”

“I think it’s a good idea...everyone can see what you’re doing as well.”

Valentin shot him a piercing look. “Indeed.” 

Beyond the dais, and below the high windows, was a desk and a chair and Valentin made his way to them and seated himself, then, with a flick of his hand and a muttered spell, Summoned a chair for Harry.

So the man could do some simple wandless magic, then. If it had been Harry, he would have kept that talent to himself...to use at a later date if necessary. Obviously Valentin felt confident enough to lay his cards on the table from the outset.

The older man had withdrawn a sheaf of papers from his desk drawer and now Harry hurried to his side and sat down in the chair Valentin had provided for him. Each page was neatly labelled with the year being taught and the details of several lessons.

“As we progress—and see just how evenly matched we are—we can plan further. But for now I thought we could start with the basics. Of course the first years will be starting from scratch anyway....”

Harry stared at the lists. “Which houses are taught together?” he asked.

“Houses? There are no houses here, Mister Potter; Durmstrang has always believed that our students have enough to contend with outside of these walls, without creating rivalry and animosity within them. Each student strives for himself...as it is in life.”

“I think houses are a good thing,” Harry argued. “They engender co-operation and team-work and a sense of belonging—sort of like a second family.”

“Then I wonder that you did not go to teach at Hogwarts,” Valentin said coldly.

“I….” Harry shut his mouth with a snap; he was not about to discuss his decision to teach at Durmstrang with this unfriendly man.

There was a moment’s frigid silence and then Valentin continued. “No doubt Vlad has given you your timetable so….”

“Erm, no, actually he hasn’t…there was some, erm, _doubt_ last night, about whether I would be staying, so I suppose he decided to wait to see what my decision was.”

Valentin turned an incredulous eye upon him. “Some _doubt_ as to whether you would be _staying_? But you have only just arrived. Surely my reputation is not _that_ fearsome.” The smirk on Valentin’s face led Harry to believe that the man would have liked nothing better than for it to actually _have_ been his fearsome reputation that had given Harry pause for thought.

“Actually, no,” Harry said as casually as he could. “I’d never heard of you...and even if I had,” he went on, “I enjoy a challenge.”

Valentin leaned very close and, with a grin that held not a trace of humour, said in a low voice, “In that case I shall do my very best to oblige, Mister Potter.”

They were interrupted by a knock on the classroom door and the headmaster entered the room.

“Ah, good, good, I see you have made each other’s acquaintance. Am I to take your presence here, Harry, as an indication that you have decided to stay with us?”

“Yes, sir…Vlad,” Harry said firmly. “Valentin was just telling me about lesson plans…but I don’t have a timetable yet.”

Vlad flourished a piece of paper from his pocket. “Just as well I have it with me—now you two can get yourselves prepared.” He paused. “Please do not take this amiss, Harry, but it may be as well to let Valentin guide you for the first term or so. That way you can get a feel for things, later you can start to take the initiative.”

“If he lasts that long,” Valentin said under his breath, just loud enough for Harry to hear.

“Actually, Vlad, I do have some experience teaching.”

“Really? I wasn’t aware that you had held another post.”

“Well, it wasn’t a real teaching job, not properly. I just taught Defence to a group of students at school, during the fifth year, when Umbridge refused to teach us anything practical. We didn’t do too badly…some of us managed to hold off a bunch of Death Eaters at the Ministry of Magic…” Harry tailed off, halted from providing further information by his sadness at the recollection of the circumstances surrounding Sirius’ death: thus it was that he missed the quick look that the headmaster and the Offence teacher shared.

A loud ‘snap’ recalled Harry’s attention to his surroundings; the pencil that Valentin had been holding had snapped clean in two.

“Valentin!” The headmaster’s voice was low and urgent.

Valentin turned to Harry. “Is that so? You held off a group of fully trained, adult Death Eaters?”

“Yep, and we did all right...although it was a good job the Order turned up when they did.” Harry’s face became a bitter mask. “Turned out it was all a trick to get me to retrieve something for Voldemort. Lucius Malfoy was leading the Death Eaters, he ended up in Azkaban and served him right; pity the bastard escaped, he should have been there for life.”

“Yes, well,” Vlad said quickly, “that’s all in the past now. But I’m sure your experience will be most valuable, Harry. Don’t you agree, Valentin?”

“Oh, yes,” Valentin agreed, “most useful.” His dark grey eyes held Harry’s green ones for a long moment, then he turned back to the headmaster. “Well, Vlad, if we are to have our lessons ready by Wednesday, when classes begin, we had better get on.”

“Indeed, indeed. I’ll leave you to it. See you at lunch, Harry.” With a quick raise of his hand, Vlad turned and left, leaving Harry alone once more with Valentin.

Surprisingly the rest of the morning went smoothly; whatever negative feelings Valentin might have harboured toward Harry, when it came to the preparation of lessons, he was pure professionalism. Harry was impressed with the curriculum that Valentin had worked out, to the extent that he remarked at one point, “Crikey, I wish we’d had you teaching us at Hogwarts...some of this stuff is really interesting.”

Valentin’s lips curled into the nearest approximation of a smile that Harry had yet seen the man produce. “Only _some_ of it, Mister Potter?”

Harry laughed, feeling a little of the tension ease from his shoulders at the evidence that Valentin possessed at least _some_ sense of humour. “Well, okay, actually most of it. When I think of the duffers we were saddled with, except Remus Lupin...and Snape, I suppose—we’ll it’s a wonder we learnt anything at all.”

“Hence the need for _you_ to teach, I suppose?” Valentin was watching Harry closely. “And how did you know so much, Mister Potter...so much more than your friends?”

“Well, Remus taught me quite a lot...the Patronus Charm for example, and I had to learn quite a bit for the Triwizard Tournament; the rest I just picked up as I went along...luckily it seemed to come fairly easily to me.”

“Naturally talented, perhaps?”

Harry shrugged, and smirked back at Valentin. “I guess so.”

The boom of the meal gong reverberated through the castle, answered a moment later by a loud rumble from Harry’s stomach. Valentin raised an eyebrow. “It sounds as if someone is ready for lunch.”

“Someone is _definitely_ ready for lunch.” Harry laughed. “Do we have time to have a quick look at my classroom before we go?” he asked.

Valentin pushed back his chair, rose to his feet and then led the way out of his classroom and across the large practice room. He stood back to allow Harry to enter the other classroom first.

Harry had expected a mirror image of Valentin’s classroom, but in his room the desks were placed in the usual rows, lit by the sunshine which flooded the room with light from large windows in two walls.

“Your room is on a corner of the building,” Valentin said by way of explanation.

“I’m surprised you didn’t move in when the last Defence teacher moved out.” 

Valentin shrugged a shoulder. “I was settled in my room.”

“Still,” Harry said, “I’d have been in here like a shot...all this lovely light.”

“Each to his own...and I shouldn’t get too enamoured with the sunshine; today is a rare day, usually we are shrouded in darkness and the only light is from the lamps. Although,” he added, crossing the classroom to the nearest window, “you do have a good view of the Quidditch pitch from here...I should imagine that will be a major plus for you.”

Harry ignored the dig and went to stand beside Valentin. The view from the window took in the huge peak which towered over the school, part of the surrounding pine forest, and a clearing within the trees that had been set up as a Quidditch pitch. He could just make out a tiny figure, which he presumed was Krum, whizzing around the goal posts at the near end. He experienced a sudden wish to be out flying and couldn’t suppress the sigh that escaped him.

He expected Valentin to take advantage of his obvious desire to be outside on his broom, but the dark haired man remained silent. For a few minutes they both watched the small flyer, then Valentin turned away.

“Come, we must get to lunch.”

As they made their way to the dining hall, Harry, hurrying by Valentin’s side, asked, “How do they pick Quidditch teams? I mean, as they have no houses?”

Valentin glanced down at him. “Four pupils from the seventh year are picked to be team captains; they in turn hold selection try-outs. Each pupil, regardless of age or ability, gets the chance to try to secure a place on one of the four top teams; then there are a further four teams, a second division if you will. Pupils may move from one division to another, depending on their performance, and scouts from all the teams are constantly on the watch for improving players.”

“Wow,” Harry said, impressed. “So there are eight teams?”

“Durmstrang has rather more pupils than Hogwarts...as you will shortly discover—they are due to arrive on Tuesday. Having more teams gives more pupils the chance to fly in competition.”

“Do the teams have names, or are they just numbers?”

“Names,” Valentin said shortly, his tone of voice making it clear to Harry that the older man had said what he considered to be enough on the subject of Quidditch. Harry determined to sit by Krum, should the other man turn up in time for lunch, and ask all the questions he still had.

At the door to the dining hall, Valentin halted. “I will see you later, about three if that is convenient?”

Harry turned back. “Oh, aren’t you coming in to lunch?”

“I have matters that need attending to. If you are unsure of the route back to our classrooms, summon your house-elf, he will direct you.”

“Oh, okay then. Thanks for bringing me down.”

Valentin nodded and turned to go.

“About three, then?” Harry called after him. “Your place or mine,” he added in an attempt at levity.

Valentin paused, and then turned around; a slight smile creased his lips. “Mine,” he said succinctly, then once more swung around on his heel and hurried off down the corridor.

Krum did not make it to the lunch table; instead Harry found himself seated between Alex Greenwood and the dark-haired lady, Marta, whom he had been seated beside the night before.

It turned out she was the Professor for Muggle Studies and on discovering that Harry had been brought up by Muggles, spent the meal bombarding him with questions. Her fascination for all things Muggle eventually led Harry to recommend she get in touch with Arthur Weasley...then they could enthuse together. Alex had been quiet through most of the meal, partly because he would have found it hard to get a word in edgeways, partly because he was engrossed in some paperwork he had in front of him, but when Marta left, he pushed the papers to one side.

“So, young Harry, how are you finding Durmstrang?” he asked.

“Okay.... It’s not that much different from Hogwarts really, although of course I’ll be teaching and not studying.”

“Speaking of which,” Alex said carefully, “how are you getting on with Valentin?”

Harry frowned. “Hmm, I’m not sure. I think he has something against me for some reason; sometimes he seems almost angry with me...and then other times he can be quite normal, even funny.”

“He is a complicated man, our Valentin. I don’t think any of us know him very well...except Vlad; he and Valentin seem to have been friends for some time, from even before Valentin came to teach here.”

“How long _has_ he been here?” Harry asked.

“About two years, I suppose, give or take a month or so...yes, it must be that long—he arrived about a year after me,” Alex added reflectively. “Whatever else Valentin is, he’s a superb teacher...rules the kids with a rod of iron, yet they all seem to love him. He’s taught them so much.”

“I’m still not sure about this whole teaching methods of attack thing.”

“Attack, defence, it’s all a matter of semantics, isn’t it really...just a question of who throws the first punch, at least, that’s how I see it. Well, must get on,” Alex said, rising to his feet. “Catch you later, Harry.” He left, leaving Harry sitting alone in the great dining hall. He glanced at his watch; he had an hour and a half before he was due to meet up again with Valentin and decided some exploration was in order.

********

It was strange walking through the vast castle that was Durmstrang; everywhere was totally silent and Harry wondered what it would be like once it was thronged with children and the silence was broken by chattering voices. He found that the lower he descended into the castle’s depths, the more gloomy the corridors became; they were not below ground, but still they reminded Harry of the Hogwarts dungeons—although even _they_ were not as dark and forbidding as these passageways. Harry thought that even Severus Snape, fond as the man was of his subterranean home, would have found the lower levels of Durmstrang oppressive and dark.

He headed up, climbing staircases of stone; some were narrow, spiralling around a central column, the steps hollowed in the middle where countless footsteps had worn away the stone; yet others were wide, with broad shallow steps that took him up through huge halls where great tapestries decorated the walls.

Occasionally Harry would come across pools of light, where windows let in the winter sun and here he would pause and bask in the faint warmth. Often the windows were set high in the walls, but wherever he could, Harry would peer out and try to figure out where he was in the castle; it was a fruitless occupation. Durmstrang was such a sprawling building that in the end he gave up. All that he could say for certain was if he was on the side where his bedroom was, or if he was on a side that had a view of the Quidditch pitch, or the road that led to the front of the school. More often that not, his eyes were greeted with the sight of something totally unfamiliar: small courtyards tucked away in the centre of the great walls; endless pine trees; mountains.

He was so lost in his exploration, that it was with horror that he glanced at his watch and realised that he had five minutes to get back to Valentin’s classroom. He paused and looked about himself; he was stood in a long passageway which had windows running all along one side. He had been there for quite a while, having discovered that the corridor contained a large number of portraits of past headmasters that hung on the wall opposite the windows. Now he was angry with himself for not keeping a closer watch on the time.

Harry went to the widows to see if he could get some impression of where he was in the castle in relation to his classroom and found, from the view, that he must be somewhere slightly above his own room; he could see all of the same scenery—just from higher up. He made his way along the corridor until he came across a narrow doorway between two large portraits. Hoping that it led to a staircase, he set off through it. He was right, just around a corner he came across a flight of steep spiral steps that seemed to lead into the depths of the castle and he hurried down them, thinking that maybe he wouldn’t be too late after all.

He was brought up short by an invisible force of some kind and his wand was out in a moment. Feeling with his wand and with his mind, in the way that Snape had taught him, Harry slowly broke his way through the invisible barrier, growing ever more conscious that time was flickering past and that Valentin would be waiting for him. At last the barrier fell and Harry hurried through with a sigh of relief and rushed on down the staircase.

Harry never knew what hit him, except that it seemed to come out of a wall of noise and freezing cold. He was slammed back against the stone wall of the staircase, the breath knocked from his body. It rose up from around the corner below him, a looming, misty figure that seemed to flash with blue lightening. The cold surrounded him almost palpably, freezing his ability to think coherently. Harry struggled to bring his wand up as the figure grew closer and closer, but it was useless; he could feel the icy breath of the thing turning the moisture in his skin to glacier-cold crystals.

Abruptly he was caught by the collar and hauled behind a figure that had appeared behind him. Valentin had his wand pointed at the icy figure and was chanting a spell in some strange language. Harry felt the air around him warm marginally and he attempted to uncurl his fingers from the warm woollen fabric of Valentin’s jacket where they had clutched. He could see beads of sweat appear of Valentin’s forehead as the power needed for the spell strained the man to his limits.

Then there was an ear-splitting screech and the creature disappeared.

“Merlin, what the hell was that?” Harry asked in a gasp.

“An ice elemental,” Valentin supplied in a voice that was only slightly warmer than the breath of the demon. He turned to Harry. “What are you doing here?” he demanded through clenched teeth.

“I was trying to get back to our classrooms.”

“And did you not come across anything that might have made you think to try another way?”

“Well,” Harry said slowly, “there was this invisible barrier thing.”

“And did it not occur to you that it might have been there for a reason?” Valentin hissed.

“Erm,” Harry supplied, feeling acutely embarrassed now that he was out of danger. “I suppose I thought it was a prank thing…the sort of thing that Peeves the Poltergeist, might have done at Hogwarts.”

“But you are not _at_ Hogwarts.”

“Or something to stop the pupils going down here.”

“And thus not applicable to the great Harry Potter?”

“Not applicable to the teachers,” Harry said hotly, trying to justify what, in hindsight, was an irresponsible action.

Valentin was having none of it. “And you found it an easy barrier to get through, did you? Something a normal witch or wizard would have ease with?”

“No, I suppose it was pretty tricky.”

Valentin sighed and some of the anger seemed to drain from him. “You must learn, Mister Potter, that around here barriers are not made to be broken. You are lucky that it was I who erected this particular barrier in the first place… I was alerted at once when it was brought down. However, had I not happened to be on my way to retrieve you anyway, it is very possible that you would be dead by now.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Hmm.” Valentin regarded Harry stonily, as if doubting the sincerity of his apology.

“No, really, I am sorry. And thank you for rescuing me. I would have hated my career here to be over before I’d even taught a single lesson.”

Valentin grunted and turned to ascend the stone steps. Harry followed him, but once they had climbed perhaps ten steps, Valentin halted again.

“I must re-erect the barrier. Please wait for me at the top,” he said shortly.

“But can’t I help?” Harry asked hopefully.

“No.” It was final and Harry knew better than to argue with _that_ tone of voice. He turned and, sliding past Valentin on the narrow stairs, he went back to the picture gallery above.

Twenty minutes later Valentin emerged from the stairwell. He was tucking his wand away in the folds of the sleeve of his heavy jacket.

“So, what’s something like that doing in the school anyway?” Harry asked. Having been given time to reflect on the situation, he had begun to feel somewhat indignant that such a dangerous thing would be allowed to stay where children might stumble across it at any time. He refused to listen to the reasonable voice inside him that pointed out that the ice elemental had been safely barred behind a rather formidable force field until Harry had come along and dismantled it.

“You will find that things are not so _tame_ here at Durmstrang as they are at Hogwarts. In this part of the world, the old, Wild magic still lingers and it is not within the most powerful wizard to simply Banish an ice elemental if it does not wish to go. The best one can hope for is to contain it until it decides itself to leave.” Valentin glanced down at Harry. “If you carry on with such reckless disregard and ignorance, Mister Potter, I can assure you that your time here will be very short…indeed.”

“Then I’d better learn quickly,” Harry snapped, thoroughly fed up now with Valentin getting at him at every opportunity.

“Quite,” was the only response from the Offence teacher.


	3. The First Lesson

  
Author's notes: The pupils arrive and Harry gets to demonstrate just how good a fighter he is.  


* * *

****

The First Lesson

Harry was ribbed mercilessly that night at dinner; Alex Johnson was the first to have a dig. “In trouble already, Harry? So all the rumours were true then—about your ability to get into scrapes?”

Dmitri was the next to comment. “Ah, leave him, Alex, he vas just trying to get in some practice before attempting to thaw out the _real_ ice elemental—Valentin.” There was scattered laughter at this comment and Harry noticed that even Valentin, who had joined them for dinner that night, allowed the corners of his mouth to crease into a rough approximation of a smile. 

It seemed that the other teachers, although treating Valentin with perfect friendliness, were still a little careful around him. The man obviously had a reputation of being difficult to get on with, and if it was true that he had seen off three previous Defence teachers, then the reputation seemed to have been well earned.

Valentin himself, as evinced by his sharing of the joke made at his expense, showed that he could be amenable if he chose. However he seemed to hold himself somewhat aloof and Harry wondered if it was just his nature…or if there was something else that made Valentin reluctant to mingle with the other professors.

 

****

****

Harry and Valentin worked hard for the next two days, until late on Tuesday afternoon there was a great kafuffle and the loud, deep sound of the meal gong rang unexpectedly through the castle.

Valentin put away the lesson plans they were working on and rose to his feet. 

“What is it?” Harry asked, following suit.

“Our students are arriving,” Valentin supplied, before striding from the room, closely followed by Harry.

A great babble of voices began to be heard as they approached the dining hall, but before they reached it, Valentin swung through another doorway and down a steep, narrow flight of stairs, murky in the dim light cast by the smoky candles. They emerged into the great hall that Harry had been brought to when he first arrived—but now it was lit by hundreds of candles and the fire in the central hearth burned with a fierce intensity. All around the room stood knots of children, grouped around their luggage, talking nineteen to the dozen. Some of the children, nearest to where Harry and Valentin emerged, noticed them and began to whisper and nudge each other. Harry tried not to blush as numerous eyes began to follow him and more and more of the children stopped their loud conversations to whisper to their neighbours.

Several of the older children called out a greeting to Valentin, which he acknowledged with a slight raise of his hand. They made their way through the crowds until they reached the fireplace...where they met up with Alex Johnson, the Headmaster, Marta and three other teachers whose names Harry couldn’t recall.

Vlad cast a _Sonorus_. “Students, may I have your attention!”

The noise in the hall ceased abruptly.

“Welcome back to school, I am sure you are all pleased to return after your holidays.”

There was a muted groan and a smattering of laughter.

“Year heads are as before, as are your dormitories—with the exception of those of you who were in the Red Tower.”

There was a distinct heightening of interest among the pupils and a huddle of children on the far side of the room craned round, alert.

“Those of you who were in the Red Tower are now, due to some, ah, _elemental_ problems, to have a new home in Central Four.”

The children who had obviously been previously housed in the Red Tower began to chatter excitedly amongst themselves until Vlad once more quietened them.

“Please! I have one more notice to give before I allow you to escape to your dormitories and catch up on three weeks worth of gossip. The pathway between the South Tower and the Potions classroom is closed until further notice...please do not be rash enough to ignore this warning. I do so hate sending pupils home to their parents in jam jars. Dismissed.”

On Vlad’s last word there was a sudden collective ‘pop’ and a multitude of house-elves appeared, each taking hold of several pieces of luggage and then disappearing. The children began to straggle off in various directions and soon the hall was empty except for the teachers. Alex was staring at Vlad. “What’s this about the pathway between my tower and the Potions room? You never mentioned anything to me earlier.”

Vlad sighed. “Sorry, Alex, but I have only just been told myself; there has been another rock fall; your charges will have to take the long way round until it can be cleared and the wall made safe again.”

Alex sighed. “Bloody Hell,” he said with feeling. “Oh well, I’d better go and make sure my lot aren’t killing each other yet.” He turned and strode away towards the door by which Harry and Valentin had entered. Harry looked around suddenly and realised that Valentin too had disappeared.

“Oh.” Harry had become used to Valentin being by his side—now he wondered where the older man had gone…presumably to carry out the duties of a year head if Harry was right in assuming that was what the man was.

Vlad confirmed Harry’s theory. “Valentin is head of our Year Six—he will have gone to make sure they are all settled in—not that any of them would dare to be otherwise; Valentin is very strict! I have to check on my own Year Sevens, if you would care to join me?”

Harry nodded. “Yes please, it will be nice to meet some of the students.”

Vlad turned and, with Harry at his side, made his way across the great hall to a huge double door which, Harry remembered from his exploration, led to a wide sweeping staircase.

They walked in silence for a little way, and then Vlad spoke. “I heard about your little brush with danger, Harry.” 

The headmaster had been absent since Harry had broken the barrier around the ice elemental. Now he gazed down at Harry with concern in his eyes.

“Oh, yes.” Harry blushed. “I’m sorry about that. I really thought it was just to stop the children from going down that flight of steps.”

“But you pushed through a barrier that many of our most experienced teachers would have had trouble with.” Vlad paused. “I know that you have become so used to the extent of your powers, Harry, that you don’t often think of them, but may I ask you to please be careful?”

Harry nodded. “Absolutely. I have no wish to come across anything like that again. I really am sorry…I know I was lucky that Valentin was nearby.”

“Whilst I have no doubt that you would have been able to deal with the elemental on your own, had you not been surprised, Harry, you may find that things have a _habit_ of taking a person by surprise around here…things are not always as they seem.”

“I’m not sure I could have tackled it even if I’d _had_ warning,” Harry admitted. “I had no idea of the spell that Valentin used to push it away. I didn’t even recognise the language.”

“Persian,” the headmaster supplied. “Valentin is fairly fluent…that is why he is usually the one to deal with such things. They are of ancient origin and will answer only to the old language of their motherland.”

“I’d never heard of such things before I came here. Why didn’t we learn about them at Hogwarts?”

“That I can’t answer, except perhaps to say that Britain is free of such things. There the old, Wild magic exists only in pockets, and even there it sleeps.”

“What is this… _old_ magic? Valentin mentioned something about it as well.”

Vlad looked down at him again. “Now that really is a subject that Valentin is expert in. You would do much better to ask him about it. You never know,” he added with a sideways look, “you might just find that it breaks the ice between you…no pun intended! I am aware that there is some, ah, friction between you.”

Harry looked downcast. “I…well I don’t expect people to necessarily like me on the spot, but Valentin seems to have something against me for some reason….” He trailed off, unsure what to say that wouldn’t make him sound whiney.

“Valentin has had some… _tragedies_ in his life; they have made him a little _bitter_ , shall we say. I would not take his coldness too personally, Harry, just be your normal, cheerful self and I’m sure that things will improve between you.”

“Oh, I’m sure things will work out, really. When we’re doing the lesson plans and stuff, he’s fine with me—and I’m looking forward to starting to teach, and seeing if I can keep up with him!”

Vlad smiled. “That is the spirit, Harry. Now, here we are,” Vlad added. The noise of children’s voices had been growing steadily louder and now Vlad opened a door into a large room in which chairs and settees had been grouped. A large fire burned in a huge stone fireplace at one end. The room was full of students in their last year at Durmstrang, and suddenly Harry wondered if he was going to be able to control his classes. A large number of the boys were taller than he, and there were several girls who could look down on him also.

“Good evening, ladies and gentlemen,” the headmaster called. 

“Good evening, Sir,” came the united response.

“Firstly may I have the pleasure of introducing your new Defence teacher, Professor Harry Potter.”

“Good evening, Professor.” Harry was treated to the same chorus.

“I know that you will all make him welcome, and assist him in any way that you can.”

Harry could see the interest in the eyes that regarded him. On the whole the children seemed friendly, although there were one or two who looked a little darkly at him, and Harry wondered which side of the war their parents had been on. He remembered Draco Malfoy once saying that his father had wanted him to attend Durmstrang Institute instead of Hogwarts; it was quite possible that there had been quite a lot of support for Voldemort here at one time, when Karkaroff had been headmaster

Well, he would just have to deal with it. Harry straightened his shoulders and moved into the room as Vlad began to introduce the students.

 

****

****

Harry’s first lesson, much to his relief, was to be shared with Valentin. Whilst the man might be stand-offish and downright irascible at times, Harry was happy that he was to get a chance to see a lesson in progress before setting out on his own. Once a week, the year groups of pupils had one lesson that coincided. Here they would get to duel, and test the attack and defence strategies they had been taught in the preceding week. The first group of pupils were fifth years, scheduled for nine o’clock on Wednesday morning.

Harry went down to breakfast with his stomach full of butterflies. He had almost asked Festus to bring food to his room, but decided he had to start as he meant to go on—with confidence. When Valentin called for him at seven-thirty, he gave Harry a piercing look, then a smile sketched itself on the older wizard’s face.

“A little nervous, Mister Potter?”

“Just a little,” Harry admitted, trying to keep a waver out of his voice. Honestly, he chided himself, I defeated the darkest wizard the world has ever known, why on earth should I be scared of a bunch of fifteen year olds? He tuned back into what Valentin was saying and realised the man had decided to be charitable.

“…as you weren’t here last term. So I shall lead the lesson—if you are agreeable—go over some basics, see if they remember what they have been taught. That way you will get a feel for things.”

“Thanks very much,” Harry said with feeling as they entered the dining hall.

The previous evening he had seen how arrangements for dining had changed, now that the students had returned. They occupied the numerous round tables—the older pupils bagging the tables nearest the fires—and the teachers had a long table to themselves at the far end of the hall. Harry had expected it to be much colder, but it was surprisingly warm. It had been Alex Johnson who pointed out the two black metal pipes that ran along a depression in the floor beneath the table. 

“Part of the heating system,” he explained. “Hot water is pumped around certain areas of the school, via these pipes…of course it’s bloody nearly cold by the time it reaches the end of the run, but luckily here is pretty near a boiler.”

Harry had already decided that some serious clothes shopping was in order the first opportunity he got. His own clothes were simply not warm enough to cope with the cold here at Durmstrang. He had taken to wearing three pairs of socks, a vest, a t-shirt and two jumpers beneath his warmest cloak, and he was still cold.

He forced himself to eat a plate of eggs and bacon, pouring himself a large mug of hot coffee. Krum was sat across the table from him but was completely engrossed in small intricate animated drawings of Quidditch manoeuvres on which he kept scribbling with a well-bitten quill pen, until he suddenly looked up and said, “Harry! Ve must fly together!”

His voice had been loud enough to carry to the students who were seated nearest the teachers’ table and Harry noticed that conversation ceased abruptly as the pupils listened to hear what was going on.

“Well, Viktor, I’d love to! I’m a bit rusty but….”

“Vonderful, vonderful! This Saturday, we are haffing try outs for the teams…we can give them a demonstration, yes?”

“Might I remind you both that Mister Potter is the _Defence_ teacher?” Valentin hissed under his breath.

“But of course Harry is the Defence teacher…but vat is to stop him flying vith me?” Krum demanded, not bothering to lower his voice.

“I think it is a wonderful idea,” said another voice…and Vlad leaned over the back of Harry’s chair. “I shall look forward to it. And by the looks of it,” he nodded towards the pupils, “I am not the only one!”

Harry looked up and saw that now nearly all the pupils had gone silent, their eyes fixed on the long table.

“Vell, that is settled then,” said Krum, scraping back his chair and getting to his feet. “Ve shall haff a flying demonstration on Saturday morning!”

A loud cheer from the pupils greeted his words, followed by an excited buzz of conversation. It appeared that Harry’s reputation as a Quidditch player had reached even here and he briefly wondered if he was more famous for his flying abilities than for defeating Voldemort.

Before he had a chance to ponder on the subject any further, Valentin swept to his feet and strode from the dining hall, not bothering to see if Harry was following or not. Harry allowed a sigh to escape. Somehow he had managed to piss Valentin off, _again_ …and again without knowing quite why or how.

By the time Harry had reached their classrooms, Valentin was nowhere to be seen. He had been so sure that the older wizard was making his way here that Harry was rather nonplussed to find he was alone…and rather nervous as pupils began to arrive and seat themselves on the tiers of seats. Finally, just when Harry had decided that Valentin had deserted him, the man strolled into the room. Immediately the children went silent.

“Good morning class.”

“Good morning, Sir,” came the customary chorus.

“We will use this morning’s lesson to see how much you have remembered from last term…and perhaps we can demonstrate just how much we have learned to Professor Potter here.”

“Duel!” a voice rang out from the back of the room.

“Duel!” the cry was taken up, the pupils looking eagerly at Harry and Valentin.

Valentin held up his hand. “Yes, of course you shall duel—how else can you demonstrate what you know?”

“No, Sir.” Harry tracked down the source of the voice to a blonde-haired boy sitting on the back row of the benches. “You duel, Sir…you and Professor Potter, Sir!”

Harry expected Valentin to quash the idea straight away, but much to his dismay the Offence teacher turned to him with a smile. “What say you, Professor Potter? Prepared to give a demonstration of your undoubtedly awesome defence talents?”

Harry was taken aback. “Well, I….”

“Oh, come now, a little _friendly_ duel, just to show our pupils what they can achieve if they study hard?” Valentin’s smile had broadened and Harry knew there was no way he could refuse to participate without losing an immense amount of respect. 

He swallowed hard, then plastered a smile on his face. “Of course, Professor Valentin. I would be delighted.”

A buzz of conversation flew round the assembled children, and Harry had the absurd idea that they were taking bets. Slowly he reluctantly removed his cloak. Valentin began to make a series of intricate wand movements; seeing Harry’s look of question he explained, “Wards…to ensure that we do not inadvertently injure one of our audience. The children will see and hear what is going on but will be unaffected should any spell accidentally come their way.” Finishing his work on the wards, Valentin returned to Harry’s side and began to remove his jacket…revealing a billowing white shirt beneath. Harry immediately thought how the wide sleeves would hamper Valentin’s movements and was preparing to note down the advantage in his mind when Valentin cast some sort of spell on them which caused the material to cling tightly to the older man’s forearms.

“Are you ready, Professor Potter,” the Offence teacher asked pleasantly. 

Harry nodded. 

“Then if you would care to take your place…. I’m sure you know the rudiments of traditional duelling?”

Slowly, Harry moved to stand the requisite ten paces away from his opponent and drew out his wand from the holster in his sleeve that he’d had specially designed.

Valentin moved to his own spot, seeming somehow to prowl there, his eyes never leaving Harry’s. 

The children almost collectively leaned forward in their seats.

“En garde, Mister Potter.”

Harry brought his wand up in salute, then, almost before he had chance to blink, had to duck as a stream of blue light shot at him from the end of Valentin’s wand. He leapt to one side, feeling the magic fizz past him then threw up a hasty shield from behind which he threw a “ _Locomotor Mortis_.”

From where he had been locked into place Valentin countered with a “ _Petrificus Totalus_ ” which tore through Harry’s defence shield. Harry rolled and the binding spell whizzed over his head. He was up and running before Valentin could press home his attack, firing a “ _Muffliato_ ” spell in an attempt to give himself an advantage if Valentin could not hear what he was saying. Although Harry was adept at both wandless and wordless magic, he had always kept these talents to himself; they had given him the edge he had needed when defeating Voldemort and he didn’t give up his secrets lightly. 

Valentin stepped neatly to one side and the spell zinged past; he grinned at Harry before casting an “ _Orchideous_ ” in Harry’s direction. Harry was not quick enough and the students laughed as a huge bunch of flowers sprang from the end of his wand. He Banished them with a hasty spell then turned his attention back to where Valentin was stalking ever closer, a malicious expression on his face.

For a second they stared at each other, then the spells began to fly thick and fast. Whirling, rolling, diving and ducking, Harry spun around the duelling space, flinging spell after spell at Valentin. Soon he was dripping with sweat, but a grin was beginning to form on his face. Valentin was good…very good, but Harry was keeping up with him—and he had forgotten just how much he enjoyed the thrill of the fight. Blasting a binding spell through Valentin’s shield, Harry took the opportunity to scramble out of his two jumpers, throwing them to one side and squaring up to the older wizard just in time to counter a curse thrown as Valentin escaped from the magic cords.

Valentin jumped at him, firing a barrage of jinxes and hexes at the Defence teacher, then he was behind Harry, an arm tight around Harry’s throat. “Planning on doing a full expose?” he murmured by Harry’s ear, his warm breath tickling the short hairs on the back of Harry’s neck. “You _are_ going to a lot of trouble to entertain!” Then he was gone, releasing Harry, jumping backwards in one fluid movement and raising his wand. Harry was just in time to counter a Confundus Charm before retaliating with an “ _Engorgio_.”

Valentin made things a lot more serious by firing off an “ _Incendio_.” A bolt of flame shot past Harry as he leapt wildly to one side. His ankle gave way beneath him and Harry fell with a bone-jarring thump to the floor. He skewed round, expecting Valentin to be pressing home his advantage, but the Offence teacher was waiting for Harry to get up. He gestured with his wand. “Please, Mister Potter…I’m sure you have no wish to end this yet.”

Harry got slowly to his feet and now both men began to circle one another; having tested each other and found they were equally matched, it became a game of strategy.

Harry felt revitalised like he hadn’t in months; the adrenalin coursed through his body, setting his nerves on fire. The wide grin on his face was answered by one from Valentin, and Harry could see the grudging respect in the man’s eyes. Despite the fact that he could have taken advantage of Harry’s fall, the older wizard had not, preferring to keep fighting. Harry determined to give the man a run for his money.

 

****

****

Half an hour later, both men were dripping with sweat. Harry had stripped to his t-shirt, which was now dark with sweat, and Valentin’s white shirt clung to his broad chest, semi-transparent. They had prodded, parried and fired spells at each other until Harry was sure there wasn’t a spell, jinx or hex in his repertoire that he hadn’t tried…except for the spell he had used to kill Voldemort, and he had made a vow to himself that he would never again say the words to that particular curse; in effect, the spell, which he had conceived with Severus Snape’s help, had died with the Dark Lord.

A loud ringing noise put an end to their display. Harry was startled by the sound of loud applause; he had forgotten entirely that he and Valentin had an audience. The children were getting to their feet and making towards the door. Harry glanced at Valentin. 

 

He smiled at the young wizard, “Well done, Professor Potter, I admit to being impressed with your talents.” He dragged his shirt off over his head and dropped it to the floor. With a flick of his wand, he conjured a fresh shirt and two towels out of the air. He handed one of the towels to Harry, who took it gratefully and began to dry the sweat from his body, trying not to watch as Valentin did the same. Tendrils of Valentin’s long black hair had escaped from where it had been neatly tied at the nape of the man’s neck and clung to the older wizard’s back and shoulders, testament to the effort the Offence teacher had put into the fight.

“So, you enjoy a good fight then, Mister Potter?” Valentin threw his towel to the floor, where a house-elf immediately ‘popped’ in and retrieved both it and the soaked shirt.

Harry grinned. “Actually, I have to admit that I did enjoy that…very much. I’ve…not done much, actually _any_ fighting since defeating Voldemort. I thought that I would never fight again,” he added reflectively. “Thought I’d had as much as I could stomach. They were grim days towards the end.” He glanced at Valentin. “Did you have much to do with the war?”

Valentin’s eyes had gone hard; he quickly pulled his new shirt on. “No, Mister Potter,” he said abruptly, before turning to his classroom door. “I suggest you go to your classroom, we have another lesson shortly.” And with that he disappeared into his own room and slammed the door shut.

Harry stood, open mouthed, staring at the door. For a few minutes there he had felt Valentin was actually warming to him. The man had seemed almost friendly, then, as quick as a flash, the Offence teacher had gone all hard and cold again…because of Harry’s mention of the war. Slowly, Harry turned to his own classroom. Perhaps Valentin had lost someone in the war—there was hardly a family that hadn’t lost at least one member—and as a consequence the man did not want to speak of it. Harry shrugged—obviously he would have to be careful what he said in the future. There was no need to upset the man if he could possibly avoid doing so, and after all, he himself was hardly keen to pursue the subject; it brought back too many painful memories.

The sound of approaching voices brought Harry back to the present and he squared his shoulders and prepared to teach his first solo lesson.


	4. Flying With Krum

  
Author's notes: A little Quidditch, progress with Valentin, and some new clothes.  


* * *

****

Flying With Krum

At 10 o’clock on Saturday morning, Viktor called for Harry to take him to the Quidditch pitch. He was wearing his old Bulgarian team uniform and Harry immediately felt rather underdressed for the occasion.

Harry had already been down for an early, and leisurely, breakfast, able now to navigate his way to the dining hall without getting lost. He had then returned to his room to mark the first lot of homework that had been handed in to him. He had been pleased with the way his lessons had gone. His first solo lesson had been with a group of eager second years who were keen and willing to learn. Rather overawed by their illustrious teacher, they hung on his every word with expressions of rapt attention. So bolstered was he by this success that Harry was able to go on and teach with confidence the group of sixth years that followed.

He and Valentin had shared three more lessons that week, but Valentin had quelled with a stony glare the children’s attempts to get he and Harry to duel again. In one way Harry was relieved about this; he hated being the centre of attention. On the other hand, he missed the adrenalin rush the fight with Valentin had given him…and the chance to see Valentin without his shirt again, but Harry was persistently refusing to dwell on this last thought. 

It was a fine day, and Viktor chatted happily as he led Harry along seemingly endless corridors, until finally they emerged into the chill winter sunshine. They joined throngs of pupils also making their way to the stands that Harry could now see in the distance. He clutched his broom under one arm; it was a “Victorious”, a gift from the manufacturers of the Firebolt and named in his honour after his defeat of Voldemort. Harry had gratefully received the broom, knowing that it would be churlish not to, but had immediately gone home and obliterated the name on the handle out of embarrassment.

The path they followed wound close around the base of the castle walls and then over a narrow stone bridge which arched over the frozen moat. It was the first time since he had arrived that Harry had been out of the castle; he looked about him with interest. There was a fringe of flat, snow-covered ground that ran around the edge of the moat, beyond which was the start of the pine forest, gloomy despite the winter sunshine and the heavy blanket of snow that covered each branch, testament to the snow that must have fallen in the night. Krum noticed the direction of Harry’s eyes.

“Ah, that is Durmstrang’s equivalent of your Hogwarts ‘forbidden forest’.”

“Oh, right…full of danger and magical creatures?”

“Volves…of both sorts,” Krum supplied darkly.

Harry’s eyes flew back to the looming forest, which suddenly looked more forbidding than ever, and determined to give the place a wide berth; he still had nightmares about some of the injuries that he had seen inflicted by Fenrir Greyback. It had been poetic justice that Bill Weasley had been the one to finally kill the cold-blooded murderer. 

The two followed the path into the stadium; here Krum stopped and glanced at his watch.

“I vill take you to my office, Harry. Then I vill do a little flying, and then I vill introduce you; there is a launch area by my office, you vill come from there. I haff arranged for a snitch to be released…ve can chase for it, and give everybody a little show at the same time. Is that satisfactory?”

Harry nodded. “Yes of course. Whatever.” He was keen now to get up on his broom. It had been some months since he had flown and, if he thought about it, that in itself was symptomatic of the malaise that he had fallen into. Since coming to Durmstrang, doing something by himself, _for_ himself, he had rediscovered an interest in life, had felt the first stirrings of emotional responses that didn’t involve anger or misery.

Krum led Harry up several flights of stairs. On one landing he paused and unlocked a door; ushering Harry through he explained, “This is my office…high enough so that I can vatch the play.”

It was a good-sized room. A desk and chair sat in the corner to the left of the door and large blackboards were mounted on the walls to the left and right; these were covered in complicated squiggles and arrows which presumably meant something to Krum, but looked like nothing more than the mad ramblings of an arthritic spider to Harry. At the far side of the room, opposite the door, was a huge plate glass window. Harry moved to it and gasped when he saw the view. Just as Fudge’s box had been at the Quidditch World Cup, Krum’s office was situated mid-way between the two sets of goal posts and at about a similar height as the rings. And now Harry could see that the stands around the pitch were thronged with children. Across from Krum’s office, on the opposite side of the pitch, was a similar large window and Harry could only assume that another viewing area lay behind it, as he could just make out several of the teachers. He craned to see if he could see the Offence teacher, but he was too far away to tell for certain if the man was there or not. Just outside, through a small door to the right of the window, was a broad platform…presumably the launch area Viktor had spoken of.

Krum was speaking. “All right, Harry? I vill go down now. Vait for me to introduce you—then fly out.” With a quick wave of his hand Viktor was gone, leaving Harry to cope with the sudden swarm of butterflies that had taken up residence in his stomach. 

Harry had expected a bit of fly around and a demonstration of a few moves…a bit of chase with Krum for the Snitch and then all over. To his dismay it was sounding more and more as if Krum were turning this whole thing into huge show. Perhaps the man missed the thrill of the big crowds, the high profile life he must have led, and was prepared to turn whatever he could into an ‘occasion’. Well, it was too late to turn back now. He would just have to grit his teeth and get on with it. Valentin’s words of warning hummed through Harry’s mind and he began to wish he had taken more notice of the man.

A huge cheer drew his attention back to the pitch and Harry turned to the window in time to see Krum hurtle past like a red comet. As he watched the former Bulgarian seeker speed around the pitch, Harry reflected on how much Krum had changed from the morose, round-shouldered teenager he had first met at the Triwizard Tournament. Then Viktor had been a boy of few words—withdrawn and sulky and seemingly lacking in the confidence one would have thought he should possess, due to his position on the Bulgarian International team. He had changed a lot in the intervening years, as, Harry supposed, had the rest of them. He smiled sadly as he watched Krum perform the manoeuvre that Hermione had once described as a “Wonky Faint”. Harry missed his level-headed friend very much indeed and wondered what it would have been like had she survived the war.

 

****

****

After his first displays of power, Voldemort had gone relatively quiet, perhaps realising that the more he drew the Muggles’ attention to the magical world, the more difficult his job would become, and in one sense he had been defeating his own objective: to keep the magical world a complete secret, closed to Muggle-born children, reserved only for those of pure-blood.

Once Dumbledore’s funeral was over, Harry had gone to ground, taking Ron and Hermione with him. They went briefly to Godric’s Hollow before realising that it was the first place Voldemort would look for them. Following Harry’s hunch about the Slytherin locket, they called in at Grimmauld Place, luckily finding it deserted, and were ecstatic to discover the piece of jewellery in the nest of rags that was Kreacher’s lair. It had given them all an early confidence boost—until they realised they had no way of destroying the Horcrux it contained. After weeks of trying, of countless books and research, they gave in and took the locket to hide it at Hogwarts, the safest place they knew. It was there that Snape had tracked them down. From then on the trio became an uneasy quartet, but it was only with Snape’s help that they managed to firstly track down the other Horcruxes and then begin to attempt to destroy them.

Voldemort had become more and more determined in his attempts to flush Harry out from hiding. Harry and his companions had taken up residence in a non-descript house in a quiet Northern town where nothing out of the ordinary ever happened. They ‘went Muggle’, using magic only when they had to, blending in with their surroundings so well that Voldemort had to resort to brutal methods when his attempts to find Harry resulted in nothing. 

Hermione’s parents had been an easy target, and Voldemort, becoming more and more certain that Harry and his friends were hiding in the Muggle world, was sure that news of their brutal murder would reach the young witch via the front page of every Muggle newspaper; Hermione, usually so in control, broke and ran…straight into the arms of a dozen Death Eaters.

Harry had gone mad, fighting Snape in an attempt to go after her, and rescue his friend. Snape had finally got through to Harry that that was just what Voldemort wanted, that they weren’t ready yet to face the Dark Lord…and did he really think that Hermione would want him to throw away everything they had achieved so far? 

Molly Weasley, tear-streaked and still reeling with the shock of her own son’s murder, had brought them news of Hermione’s death; the young witch’s mangled body had been dumped in Knockturn Alley like so much rubbish. Harry had gone to pieces, held together, in the end, by Ron and, surprisingly, Snape. He had come out of the other side of his despair more determined than ever. But he was haunted by dreams of Hermione calling to him for help, even now.

 

****

****

So lost was he in his thoughts, that Harry nearly missed Krum’s magically enhanced voice announcing him. He hurried out of the door onto the platform outside, then, flinging his leg over his broom, kicked off and soared up into the chilly sky.

It was exhilarating: the rush of freezing air through his robes, the keening of the wind in his ears…the cheers of the students as they craned their necks to follow his flight. Harry grinned, his teeth aching in the cold. He swooped low over the stands and now he could see that there were a fair number of adults scattered among the children; perhaps Durmstrang allowed parents to visit at the weekend? He shrugged mentally and did another scorchingly fast circuit of the pitch before coming to a halt at Krum’s side.

Krum too was grinning. “I haff arranged for some of the older pupils to play a little game…it vill make it all the more fun if ve haff to dodge Bludgers. Look,” he said excitedly, “they are releasing the balls.” 

Down on the pitch Harry could now see several of the children mounted on broomsticks. There was a loud cheer as they suddenly swarmed upwards after the Quaffle, four Beaters began to thwack the Bludgers about…and then there was the flash of the Snitch and Harry was off.

It was a mad game. He and Krum chased, dodged and stalked, sometimes tearing after the fluttering ball, sometimes waiting, eyes peeled for a glint of gold. In the thrill of the chase Harry forgot that he was a professor, taken back by the cheers of the crowd to his days at Hogwarts, the youngest Seeker in a century, flying for the pride of Gryffindor House. He took little notice of the score, not even sure which side he was flying for, but as it turned out, when he finally caught the Snitch after a hair-raising flight through the stands and a plummet to within inches of the ground, he and his team had won by 310 points to 270. 

After their match had finished, one of the children was deputised to show Harry up to the teachers’ viewing area whilst Krum began the team try-outs. 

Harry was met by a beaming Vlad. “Well done, Professor Potter, well done! What an exhibition of flying, truly inspiring. Now, may I introduce you to some of our parents?”

Without waiting for an answer, Vlad drew Harry into the room where he could now see a number people standing about in knots and talking together. As soon as Harry entered, conversation ceased and he became the centre of attention. Parents were drawn forth and introduced, and from the reverence with which the headmaster treated them, Harry assumed these people were the hierarchy of the parents present…on a par with Lucius Malfoy when he had been one of the Governors of Hogwarts—their attitude was certainly similar: condescending, overbearing, haughty and completely sure of their place in the world. They were dressed in thick furs, luxurious velvets and heavy, expensive-looking wools. Even at such a low-key, school event, Harry could see jewels glinting in the ears of the ladies present and the whole group of them gave off an air of wealth and old money.

Harry would have given a lot for a sit down and a glass of something wet, but was instead forced to be polite and pleasant. The headmaster presided over all with an air of triumph. Although there were a number of the teachers present as well, Harry did not see Valentin, and he had to admit to a momentary surge of disappointment, that the man had not come to see him fly. 

From the Quidditch pitch Vlad eventually led Harry back to the school, where the young wizard was delighted to see a vast repast laid out in the dining hall…but he was given little time to enjoy it, as once again the headmaster seemed determined to show Harry off to the large numbers of parents who now started to come in with their children. Harry could only assume that these people were lesser mortals in the parent pecking order and had been watching from the stands with their children, rather than in comfort from the teachers’ box. 

There was a momentary lessening of the attention focused on Harry when a list of the new teams was put up on the large notice board at one end of the dining room, and he took the opportunity to slink away. He was tired, cold and desperate for some peace and quiet. All the attention had reminded him of the aftermath of the war, when the Wizarding world went into celebratory overdrive, as if on a quest to obliterate the dreadful memories of killing and atrocity with ones of parties and merriment.

He had just reached his room and had his hand on the door handle when a voice stopped him.

“What’s this, Mister Potter? Tired of your three ring circus already?” Valentin was walking down the corridor towards him, a smirk on his face.

“Yes,” Harry snapped. “As a matter of fact I am.” He allowed a sigh to escape. “You knew this was going to happen, didn’t you?” he asked wearily.

Valentin lounged against a wall and folded his arms. He gave Harry a piercing look. “You see, young Mister Potter, what you have to understand is that you are somewhat of a feather in Vlad’s cap. Durmstrang, in recent years, and due to some, ah, _unfortunate_ associations, has suffered rather in the popularity stakes as far as magic schools go. There was a turn away from….” The older wizard broke off as the sound of voices reached them.

“Quick, in here.” Harry pushed open the door to his rooms and stood aside to let Valentin pass. The older wizard paused for a moment and then entered. Harry quickly shut the door and locked it.

“Locking the door, Mister Potter? Should I start to worry?”

“It’s to keep _them_ out, not _you_ in,” Harry explained, before he realised that Valentin was teasing him. He grinned. “Nah, you’ve no need to worry…I’ve seen what you can do with your wand!” And then he blushed as Valentin’s smirk grew wider. “Can I get you something…a glass of wine or…or something?” Harry asked in an attempt to cover his awkwardness, and then he shivered.

Valentin eyed him with concern. “You look frozen, Mister Potter. Do you not possess a decent warm cloak?”

“I thought I did, until I came here,” Harry answered ruefully. “Now I’ve realised that I’m totally unprepared for this cold. I must try and get in to a town somewhere and buy something warmer. Is there anywhere near here.”

“You can Floo into Arelsbadd tomorrow, if you wish.”

“Floo?” Harry repeated stupidly. “I didn’t realise the school was connected to the Floo…I thought that was why I had to travel the last gazillion miles by coach,” he went on, his voice rising.

Valentin laughed. “Good Gods, you didn’t really think we were _that_ cut off, did you? How did you think the students got here? In coaches? Half the first years would have been dead on arrival!”

Harry glared at him. “Then why did _I_ have to travel in by rotten, rickety, uncomfortable, bloody freezing coach?” he demanded.

“Ah, that is one tradition that Vlad has not yet got around to doing away with. Every new teacher has to… _prove_ themselves, if you like, by surviving the journey to the school by coach. Of course, a couple of hundred years ago everyone had to travel here by coach…but then parents weren’t so likely to cut up rough if their little darlings didn’t survive the rigours of the journey.”

“ _I_ bloody nearly didn’t!” Harry fumed.

“Did you mention something about a drink?” Valentin asked, obviously attempting to change the subject.

“Oh, oh yes, sorry…what would you like?”

Valentin seated himself on one of the chairs by the fire, which Festus always kept lit, and glanced at his watch. “Well, it’s rather early for me, but as you’re offering, I’ll have a gin and tonic please.”

Harry, who had been expecting Valentin to order a firewhiskey or a glass of mead or…something equally wizardly, was rather thrown. “A g…gin and tonic?” he repeated, before pulling himself together. “Ah, yes, right.” He clapped his hands—his summons for Festus; the small elf ‘popped’ into the room. “Festus, can you get us a gin and tonic and…and I’ll have a glass of white wine, please.” Festus nodded solemnly and disappeared…only to reappear a second or so later with the drinks on a silver salver. Doing the duties of a butler, he placed a tumbler of clear liquid, which Harry noticed had a slice of lime floating in it, on the table to Valentin’s side, and a large glass of white wine on the table by the chair Harry usually sat in. Then the elf bowed and vanished again.

Valentin took a sip of his drink. “Ah.” He smacked his lips appreciatively. “Festus always did know just how I like it.” He replaced his glass on the table and returned his attention to Harry. “Now, as I was saying, before we were so rudely interrupted…parents began to think that they would prefer their children to go to more, shall we say _progressive_ schools, not ones that were still stuck in the dark ages, so to speak. After Karkaroff’s, ah, _disappearance_ , the school had several headmasters. None stayed more that a term or so…until Vlad arrived—with his new ideas. He made changes, tried to update the way the school was run, but the damage had already been done. Durmstrang, unlike Hogwarts, relies on the parents to fund it, and by now a great number of the more affluent, _old_ families had taken their children away, anxious to disassociate themselves from what was now regarded as a antiquated mausoleum with more than a unhealthy pre-occupation with the Dark Arts…despite the fact that it was those very qualities that had attracted them in the first place,” he added quietly. “They sent them to other schools…the results you can see around you: parts of the castle closed off because of decay—there is only so much that magic can do to hold the fabric of a building together; our Potions master will tell you that he is short of ingredients, that children have to share equipment.” He paused. 

“Vlad needed a way to demonstrate that Durmstrang was progressing—moving away from its dark associations—and what better way to do that than to be able to show off a new member of staff who just happens to be the Saviour of the Wizarding world? Your agreeing to teach Defence here was a huge coup for Vlad.”

“So it wouldn’t have mattered if I’d been a complete duffer as far as teaching was concerned,” Harry said bitterly. “He would still have employed me?”

“It would have mattered to _me_ ,” Valentin said intently. “You can believe me or not, Mister Potter, but I would not have countenanced your remaining here if you had not been up to the job.”

The young wizard regarded the man sitting before him. It was plain to see from Valentin’s expression that he was telling the truth. “Thank you,” Harry said eventually. “It’s good to know that you believe in me.”

Valentin’s eyes glittered at Harry over the rim of his glass; he raised it slightly in a silent salute.

For a few minutes they sat in silence, Harry slowly thawing out by the hot fire. It was the first time he had actually sat with Valentin and not felt the man might cast a “ _Crucio_ ” at him the moment his back was turned—it gave him a rather warm glow and a distinct feeling that life here at Durmstrang might not be so bad after all.

After a while Harry asked, “So, what’s this town I can get to?”

“Arlesbadd. It is only a small town, but they have a clothing shop where you should be able to purchase something adequate.”

“Are…are _you_ going?”

“Tomorrow? No, but I’m sure several of the other teachers will be—there is sure to be someone who will show you around. What about your friend Krum?”

“Yes,” Harry said, feeling vaguely disappointed. “I suppose I could ask him at dinner.”

 

****

****

As it happened, Krum was busy with his teams the following day, so it was Dmitri who stood waiting for Harry by the huge fireplace in the dining hall. The weather outside couldn’t have been more of a contrast to the previous day. Inside the castle it was nearly dark as a blizzard shrieked around the walls.

Harry had been about to leave his room to go down to the Floo when a knock sounded. When he answered the door, Valentin stood outside with a heavy, fur-lined cloak draped over his arm. “Here,” he said, passing the garment to Harry. “I find myself reluctant to lose the first vaguely competent Defence teacher we have had in some time—if you are going to perish it’ll be by my hand, not by freezing to death.” His smile took the sting out of his words and Harry took the cloak gratefully.

“Thanks, this is really kind of you. I’ll look after it, I promise, and return it as soon as I get back to the castle.”

“No need…bring it to class tomorrow.”

“Really, it’s no trouble…I’ll just drop it in to you.”

“No!” Valentin’s voice was firm. “Tomorrow will be fine, Mister Potter. I may be busy this evening,” he went on, as if in an attempt to make up for his earlier abruptness.

“Well, if you’re sure?”

“Sure.” Valentin turned away and went back down the corridor towards his room. Harry stared after him. He knew the man valued his privacy, but really? He went back into his room, threw his own cloak onto the bed, and then swung Valentin’s cloak around his shoulders. He had expected it to be too long for him, as Valentin was a good few inches taller than Harry, but it actually just touched the top of his toes—Valentin must have magically shortened it for him. Harry felt the difference straight away. The fur lining snuggled around him and the heavy wool outer layer prevented cold seeping through. There was a hood, and this Harry pulled up…it smelled of Valentin—a rich, clean smell with a hint of the cologne that Valentin wore. Harry drew in a deep breath and briefly closed his eyes, then, realising he had better rush, he hurried down to the dining hall.

“Will anywhere be open?” Harry asked anxiously as he got to Dmitri’s side.

The Potions master smiled. “Oh yes, never fear. Ve have vorse storms than this, and if everyvere closed at a bit of bad veather no-vhere would ever open. Come, are you ready?” 

Harry nodded and stepped after Dmitri into the Floo.

When the Floo spat him out at the other end, Harry found himself in a large room that was obviously the local inn. There were several men seated around the scatter of tables, none of whom paid the slightest attention to he and Dmitri. Out on the street the thick snow blew wildly and it was difficult to see from one side of the road to the other. The wind howled and roared and the Potions master had to shout into Harry’s ear.

“Over there…the clothes shop. I have some potions ingredients to get—ve had some generous donations yesterday—I’ll meet you back here, inside, in an hour. All right?”

Harry nodded and Dmitri staggered away, hunched against the driving snow. Harry himself struggled across the road to the building Dmitri had indicated and, dragging open the door, hauled himself inside. His eyes were streaming from the cold and, unthinking, he stuck his hand into the pocket of the cloak and, drawing out the clean handkerchief he found there, mopped his eyes and nose with it. It was only when he was returning the square of white cotton to his pocket, that he recollected that he was not in fact wearing his own cloak and had therefore just used one of Valentin’s handkerchiefs. He gazed at the white square of cotton ruefully; he would have to make sure he cleaned it before returning it to the Defence teacher. He was just about to slip the handkerchief back in the pocket, when he noticed a neatly embroidered letter in one corner: “L”. So the handkerchief didn’t belong to Valentin; the man must have lent his cloak to someone else in the past—someone who had left their hankie in it. Harry would point it out to Valentin when he returned the cloak.

Handkerchiefs, then, it was as good a place to start as any, and as Harry turned his attention to the shop and the shopkeeper, who was even now approaching, he saw that he would indeed be able to get everything he needed here. On every wall there were shelves that reached up to the ceiling, and every one was piled high with clothing of every description and colour.

Harry had done very little clothes shopping for himself. Either Hermione or, later, Molly Weasley had done it for him. Now he mentally rubbed his hands in glee and set about buying himself a new wardrobe that would be adequate protection against the frigid weather.

In the end, Dmitri had to come and find him; Harry was so wrapped up in his shopping spree that he completely forgot to take note of the time. It was a good job, as the Potions master was able to help him with the large number of bags full of clothing Harry had accumulated. Harry had bought warm trousers and shirts, two heavy winter cloaks that were similar in design to the one Valentin had lent to him, jumpers and woollen waistcoats, thick socks and fleecy underpants that, the shopkeeper had informed Harry in a voice of quite assurance, would “keep his necessaries varm in even ze coldest veather”. The man had then laughed, nudged Harry in the side with his elbow and winked at him. “Ve vouldn’t vant you to freeze your assets now, vould ve?” 

Harry and Dmitri returned to the inn and joined several of the other teachers for lunch. It was a pleasant time, the food was excellent and the company convivial. They sat, just chatting, until late afternoon, then Flooed back to the school in time for the evening meal.

 

****

****

Festus went into transports over all the new clothing and insisted that it be taken away and laundered.

“But it’s all new,” Harry had protested.

Festus had looked at the garments darkly and muttered something about them being perhaps clean enough for anyone else, but not for Master Harry Potter.

Harry had let the elf have his way, and later that night fell into bed with a sense of satisfaction. He had spent a profitable day, fitting himself out with a new set of clothing which would go a long way to making his time at Durmstrang more comfortable; he had enjoyed an afternoon socialising with some of the other teachers, getting to know them better and hearing stories about the school; but more importantly, Harry thought, Valentin actually seemed to be warming to him. It had been kind of the Offence teacher to think of him enough to lend Harry his own cloak, and Harry also appreciated Valentin’s words about him being a competent teacher…all right, the man had qualified the description with the word ‘vaguely’, but even that was praise enough for Harry.

He went to sleep with a smile on his face and a picture of a certain dark-haired teacher in his mind.

 

****

****

The following morning he returned the cloak.

“Thank you so much…you’re right, I’m sure I would have frozen to death without it.” 

Valentin reached for the cloak. “You are welcome, Mister Potter. I trust that you were able to purchase what you needed from the clothing shop?”

“Gosh, yes. There was a huge choice.” Harry reluctantly passed back the heavy fall of material, resisting the urge to breath in, one last time, the scent of Valentin that clung to it. “Oh, and I found this in the pocket…I’m sorry, I used it by mistake, but it’s been laundered.” Harry held out the square of white cotton to the Offence teacher.

“That’s not mine,” Valentin said firmly.

“No, I know…it’s got the letter “L” embroidered on it. I think the last person you lent your cloak to must have left it behind. Anyway, as I said, it’s been cleaned.”

Harry was still holding out the handkerchief; finally Valentin took it from him. “Of course. I’ll make sure I return it when I next see my friend…Lawrence.”

Harry found himself gazing into Valentin’s dark grey eyes and wishing very much that he could count himself among the older wizard’s friends.


	5. Valentin, Oh Valentin

  
Author's notes: Harry is forced into facing up to his feelings for Valentin.  


* * *

****

Valentin, Oh Valentin

Life at Durmstrang settled down into a comfortable rhythm: lessons, both on his own and with Valentin; meals in the great dining hall and the pleasant conversation with his fellow teachers that went with them; marking homework by the fire in his room in the evenings. As the days began to draw out and the weather improved slightly with more sunny days, Harry would go and fly with Krum on the Quidditch pitch—he often had an audience, but he didn’t mind so much now—the joy of flying lifted his heart and swept Harry’s spirits up as effectively as his broom swept his physical self up into the clear, sharp air.

On Saturday nights he often spent the evening with Alex Johnson, who was fast becoming a good friend. By some means, which the Ancient Runes teacher steadfastly refused to divulge, Alex had managed to acquire a suite of rooms that included a generously proportioned sitting room, and it had become a tradition on a Saturday night for several of the male teachers to repair to Johnson’s apartment and indulge in general bonhomie and drinking too much. Harry had discovered that there was a teachers’ lounge, but that the women teachers had taken this over for themselves and as such it was only used when the headmaster called a teachers’ meeting. He soon became one of the crowd who regularly attended Alex’s soirees, bagging for himself a large comfortable armchair in which to wile the night away.

He also seemed to be making some headway with Valentin. The man no longer looked at him as if he had crawled out from under a stone and indeed, on one occasion, the older wizard had actually smiled a genuine smile at him and had admitted to being impressed with some of Harry’s ideas. “I’m impressed, Mister Potter, _very_ impressed. Of course I knew you would have to possess a _fairly_ good standard of defence techniques, but some of your ideas are quite inspired. I particularly liked your counter to the Quicksilver hex.”

Harry laughed. “You have no idea how many hours I stayed awake the other night thinking _that_ one up!”

Valentin’s eyes were intent on his young colleague and a faint smile lurked around the corners of his well-shaped lips. “Really, Mister Potter? One would have thought that at your age you would have far more _interesting_ things to do in bed at night.”

Harry had blushed, but before he could think of a suitable rejoinder, Valentin had turned away to enter his own classroom, leaving Harry staring wordlessly after him.

 

****

****

It took two months before Harry finally admitted to himself that he was _attracted_ to Valentin, and it was Alex Johnson who forced him to confront his feelings. It was a Saturday, and, as had become the norm, Harry was with a group of his male colleagues in Alex’s rooms.

“Oi! Harry! I got you something when I went into town today.”

Harry, who had been listening to Dmitri tell a rather salacious joke about a snake, an exotic dancer, and a case of mistaken identity, looked over in time to snatch out of the air the small paper bag that Alex had thrown across the room to him. He set down his glass on a nearby table, and opened up the parcel. Pulling out the narrow box the bag had held, it took Harry several seconds to understand what it contained, then his face flamed. Over the laughter he heard Alex say, “Thought it might come in handy if you ever thaw out the Ice King enough to get him into your bed.”

“I…I….” he stuttered, mortified beyond belief, and wishing that he could just crawl away and hide. Vaguely he heard conversation resume around him and flow on, leaving him marooned on an island of embarrassment.

Alex cornered him later, when the party broke up. “Harry! Harry, wait a minute, would you?” The last person left, leaving the two of them alone. “Listen, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to embarrass you…well, not as much as I obviously did.”

“It’s okay, I mean, it’s just that…well, I’m only just realising myself….”

“What? You mean you’ve only just figured out you fancy Valentin...or that you’re gay?” Alex looked at him in concern. “Wait, I remember now…weren’t you linked to some red-haired witch? J…Jenny…Jenny Welsby?”

“Ginny Weasley, and yes, I was for a while. But then the war came along and we spilt up—after that I didn’t have much time for anything, let alone relationships. By the time I did, although I went with Ginny to a lot of parties and such, we didn’t really go as a couple…I’d realised by then that I was looking at the boys more than the girls.” 

It was strange to be discussing his sexual preferences with Alex, a man he had known for less than three months, but at the same time it felt as if a weight had lifted from Harry’s shoulders. He had only ever told three other people about his suspected orientation; one was dead, one he hadn’t seen since the end of the war, and one was Ginny Weasley.

“Does everyone know...about me fancying Valentin?” he asked nervously.

Alex shrugged. “Pretty much, except Valentin himself…and I reckon you’d have to stand in front of him naked with a big arrow pointing at your arse and a sign reading ‘take me now!’ before _he_ would realise.” Alex laughed and Harry felt an answering grin emerging on his own face, then Alex sobered. “But, bloody hell, Harry, couldn’t you have picked someone a little more… _approachable_ than Valentin? I mean, gods, even I can see the man is hot—you’d have to be blind not to—but at the same time he’s as frigid as an iceberg. Why couldn’t you pick someone like Jacques? He’s good-looking, warm, kind, has a sense of humour.”

Harry shrugged and his grin became rueful. “I don’t know…Valentin’s just….” He shook his head. “There’s just something about him. Hell, I don’t even know if he’s that way inclined.”

Alex frowned. “Well,” he said slowly, “I’ve never seen him with a woman since he’s been here....” To Alex, an inveterate womaniser, to be without a girlfriend for more than a week or so was an obvious indication that someone had to be batting for the other team. “Perhaps I should try and get him to come over one Saturday…join the rest of us for a drink or three…maybe we could get him to loosen up a bit.”

Harry had never once seen Valentin at Alex’s soirees, assuming the older wizard was once again demonstrating his anti-social tendencies. “Oh, please don’t,” he gasped, worried what the others might say or do once the drink started to flow. “I’d really rather…you know, take things slowly. I’d hate for him to go off me before he’s even had a chance to go _on_ me, as it were.”

Alex laughed, and reached over to ruffle Harry’s hair. “All right, young Harry, you can rely on me not to say anything…but maybe you should try being a little more obvious.”

“If I’m not obvious, how come everyone knows I fancy him?” Harry asked, confused.

“Your eyes—they follow him everywhere.”

Harry blushed. “Crikey, do they? How embarrassing.” 

 

****

****

It seemed that now Harry’s friends on the faculty knew that _Harry_ knew that _they_ knew about his infatuation with Valentin, they felt able to impart well-meaning advice; sadly most of it was rather discouraging and ran along the lines of: “Valentin? _Valentin_? Do you have a death wish?” or “Oh, Harry, couldn’t you choose someone a little less... likely to kill you?” and “Well, okay, he’s gorgeous, but why not go for someone like Jacques? He’s cute, funny, and not likely to hex you into next week.”

Indeed, there was so much discussion about Harry’s _lack_ of a sex life that he was amazed that Valentin himself didn’t seem to notice what was going on. Neither did the students. Of course, the teachers were all very discreet, but it made Harry smile to think that the very same things could have been going on at Hogwarts and the children had been none the wiser. It was one of the few things that did make him smile. The more his friends and colleagues tried to dissuade him from pursuing a relationship with the icy Offence teacher, the more Harry became obsessed with him. 

After Alex had mentioned it, Harry realised that he did indeed watch Valentin whenever they were in the same room and either the man was totally unaware of it, or he was choosing to ignore Harry’s attention. If it was the latter, then it really didn’t bode well for Harry’s chances. On the other hand, maybe Alex was right; he would have to stand naked in front of Valentin with a big sign. Or maybe not. Harry could see that going down _really_ well and spent a reflective few minutes listing the number of hexes and curses that Valentin would probably send his way.

Harry began to try and think of ways to get Valentin to notice him. He tried hanging around after lessons had finished…only to discover, rather humiliatingly, that he had inadvertently joined an unofficial fan club that consisted of a number of the older pupils who were also trying the same tactic to get Valentin to notice _them_. Valentin treated Harry the same as he did his students, with a polite but discouraging demeanour, merely asking if Harry had some query with regard to the syllabus. As he and Harry had mapped out their lessons right up to the summer holidays, Harry had to answer in the negative. Valentin had given him a cool look, and swept from the room with the excuse that he had marking to be done.

But the more Valentin didn’t notice him, the more desperate Harry became. He had wanted very little in his life; very little that was _tangible_ , but he wanted Valentin with a deep longing that made him ache inside. He couldn’t for the life of him explain quite what it was about the Offence teacher that called to his very soul, but Harry began to realise that he would do almost anything to obtain the Holy Grail that was Valentin’s attention and affection.

He spent nights with his hands on his cock, imagining that they belonged to the tall, dark-haired man who haunted his dreams and indeed his every waking moment—running his fingers over the sensitive head whilst his mind’s eye saw Valentin—coming with a cry that had the older wizard’s name at the heart of it. He took to sleeping with his arms around a pillow, wishing desperately that his hands were clasping warm flesh, _Valentin’s_ warm flesh, to be precise, rather than cold cotton, hugging the solidness to him as he slept. Even Valentin’s voice seemed to Harry like a caress…that started as the brush of a fingertip over his lips, then progressed down his chest, over his nipples, and ended up as a hand wrapped around his cock.

It was a relief when Easter came and the children left for home. Harry had begun to have trouble concentrating on his teaching, and the last thing he wanted to do was to fall behind the Offence teacher and earn his censure. He had made the decision to spend the holiday at the castle, much to the dismay of his friends back at home, because he knew that Valentin would be there, and he had decided that he had to make a concerted effort to attract the older wizard’s attention and put himself out of his misery once and for all. Either Valentin would spurn his advances, in which case Harry would have to reconcile himself, or Harry’s dreams would come true and Valentin would take Harry in his arms and…and.... And there lay another of Harry’s problems. He had, of course, a rough knowledge of what two men _did_ together, but his information was hazy at best and the last thing he wanted was to look like a complete innocent if Valentin _should_ decide to fulfil Harry’s dreams. 

There was a book shop in Arelsbadd, but Harry shuddered at the thought of purchasing anything of an even vaguely sexual nature from the dour woman who ran it. He toyed briefly with the idea of asking Alex if he knew of any way he could get hold of some instructional reading material, but much as he liked the Ancient Runes teacher, Harry couldn’t bring himself to admit the depths of his ignorance to the man.

He finally found a way out of his predicament whilst leafing through a magazine in the teachers’ lounge, when waiting for a staff meeting to start. Right at the back, in the classified ads section, was a discreet advertisement entitled, “The Beginner’s Guide to Gay Sex.” The ad went on to list several books, available via owl order (and delivered in plain wrapping), that Harry was certain would prove to be most informative. Surreptitiously he tore out the page and stuffed it in his pocket, determined to place an order as soon as he could.

Three days later the books, addressed only to his room, arrived. Harry spent a wide-eyed afternoon leafing through their pages. They were every bit as informative as he had hoped and he grew quite breathless at some of the graphic illustrations they contained. Harry’s mind went into overdrive as he pictured himself and Valentin in some of the positions the books depicted...then he wondered just who would be the one to...well...to do the _penetrating_. Even before the question fully formed in his mind, Harry had the answer...it would be Valentin. It would be Valentin who would thrust himself inside Harry’s body, his prick brushing over something called Harry’s _prostate_ , which would, according to the text, give Harry “exquisite pleasure”. And there was not only the act of fucking itself, but _foreplay_. This warranted several chapters all to itself and Harry read with mounting arousal the things that could be done to the body to bring pleasure and enjoyment to both lovers.

Now all he needed to do was to alert the Offence teacher to the fact that he was the object of Harry’s desire, and hope, with every fibre of his being, that Valentin was interested.

But try as Harry might, he could think of no way he could get close enough to Valentin without being completely obvious in his intentions. Of course, he wanted Valentin to know that Harry fancied him, he just didn’t really want to come out and boldly say, “Oh, Valentin, if you’re not too busy this evening, would you like to come to my room and have mad, passionate sex with me?”, even if that was that was the thought that was in the front of his mind, because, although getting Valentin into bed was number one on Harry’s “to-do” list, running a close second was proving to the older wizard that Harry was worthy of pursuing a real relationship with, and to do that, Harry had to make Valentin aware of him as a person, not just as the young Defence teacher.

It was the headmaster who came to his rescue. Despite the obvious exploitation of his new Defence teacher, Harry couldn’t bring himself to dislike the man. Vlad had the interests of his school firmly at heart and Harry had to respect his determination to bring Durmstrang back from the educational wilderness it had found itself in. Indeed, his decision to hire Harry was already paying off. There had been several large donations to the school and a number of new students had been enrolled; there was an upbeat air about the place now and whilst he might feel rather used, Harry was happy to see the change in both the teachers and the students.

Vlad had leant over his shoulder at breakfast one morning and whispered, “Wild magic” in Harry’s ear, before continuing on his way. Harry had sat in confusion for several minutes, slowly eating his bacon and sausage, before he finally realised at what the headmaster was hinting. He blushed at the fact that the rumours about his crush on Valentin had permeated even the headmaster’s office, but at the same time a feeling of excitement swept through him. Here was the very thing he could justifiably seek out Valentin for—the man was an acknowledged expert on the topic. But first he would read up on the subject, thus enabling him to ask some pertinent, intelligent questions, make the occasional well-thought out comment, and then maybe, just maybe, Valentin might take the time to look at him as someone other than just another member of staff. Harry knew he was chasing rainbows, but right now it was the only thing he had to go on. 

He found his way to the school library…to discover it was presided over by a woman who was every bit as fearsome as Madame Pince had been—indeed, Harry eventually came to believe he could see a familial resemblance and it was only through sheer determination that he refrained from asking if the two were related. 

Madame Sebatina had sniffily pointed him in the direction of the shelf that contained the information he was looking for, and had then commenced to watch him over the top of a large tome she was pretending to read…presumably to make sure he didn’t commit any heinous acts of desecration of her precious books.

There were two thin volumes in all. Obviously whoever had originally stocked the library had not thought Wild magic to be a particularly important subject, and those that had come after had agreed. Still, by diligently reading what was available, Harry was able to come away with a rough knowledge that he hoped would see him through.

Harry knew better than to try and beard the lion in his den; Valentin was notoriously fearsome towards those who had the audacity to disturb his peace and privacy, so he had to pick a time when he could draw Valentin into a conversation about his specialist topic…and not run the risk of his friends on the staff sitting around like an eager audience, egging Harry on—he wouldn’t put it past them to applaud if the pair left the room together. Which left only one option; he would have to try and way-lay Valentin as the man was returning from a meal. After dinner was too risky, as quite often Valentin ate in his own rooms, and breakfast…well, nobody could be expected to be willing to discuss _anything_ so early in the morning…so it would have to be after lunch—that way they could spend the afternoon tucked away in Harry’s room, by the fire…and maybe, just maybe, the afternoon would extend into the evening and then the night. Harry’s heart raced at the thought of Valentin lying stretched out on his bed, naked, and waiting to work his way through Harry’s instructional books!

 

****

****

He set the scene with care: the two leather armchairs were moved closer together; Festus was instructed to make the fire up and provide drinks...and then to disappear unless he was called. Harry had borrowed one of the books from the library and made sure to leave it in a prominent position on a side table, a bookmark giving credence to the idea that he had actually been reading it. The bed had been made up with crisp fresh sheets and a heavy fur cover had been added. There was a late blizzard raging outside, so Harry felt justified in closing the heavy velvet curtains and lighting candles. (He had wondered for several minutes about the advisability of using _scented_ candles but had decided against them as being a little too obvious.)

Before lunch he bathed and washed scrupulously—just in case (his books informed him that personal hygiene was VERY important), then dressed with care in a pair of faded blue denim jeans that clung rather enticingly (he thought) to his arse, a dark green t-shirt (that he considered brought out the colour of his eyes), and a white polo necked jumper he had bought because it was so very tactile, made from some fleecy material that had the added advantage of being beautifully warm (an excuse he could use later to remove it if they were seated by the fire in his room). Then he took it all off again, as the thought struck him that maybe Valentin would prefer him to be in traditional wizards’ robes. Then, in a moment of rebellion, he put it all back on again, refusing to pretend to be something he wasn’t. He might want Valentin with a desperate need, but at the same time he wanted Valentin to want him for who he was. 

Squaring his shoulders, and giving his room one last glance to make sure everything was as it should be, he turned to go…only to turn back with a gasp. On his bedside table, in plain sight, was one of his books about gay sex. Hurriedly he stashed it in a drawer in his desk, sniggering slightly. He sobered almost immediately; he really needed this to work, needed Valentin to see him, _really_ see him…and like what he saw. There was a small, dark part of Harry that wondered just what lengths he would go to, to have Valentin for his own, and he hoped desperately he never had to find out. 

After another quick check that he hadn’t left anything else about of an incriminating nature, he squared his shoulders and marched down to the dining hall.

 

****

****

Valentin wasn’t there…which was just as well, as the first thing that greeted him was a cry from Alex. “Phwoar! Will you look at that! Who’s the lucky bloke, Harry? As if we didn’t already know!”

Harry glared at the man as he slipped into his place next to the Ancient Runes teacher. Alex grinned at him, unabashed. “Ooo, if looks could kill! Honestly, Harry, I wouldn’t have said it if Valentin _had_ been here”

“And just _what_ wouldn’t you have said?” came a cool voice from behind them. Harry flushed crimson as Valentin leaned over the back of his chair, close enough for Harry to smell the scent of the cologne the man wore; he only just managed to restrain himself from taking a deep sniff.

“Oh, ah, nothing really,” Alex stuttered. 

On the one hand Harry was secretly rather pleased to see Alex discomforted; on the other, he dreaded the possibility that Alex might just divulge exactly what it was he _had_ said.

“Really?” Valentin raised an eyebrow. “You won’t mind repeating it then, _will you_?” The last words were spoken with a quite menace. The other teachers around the table fell silent, suddenly aware of the tension in the room.

“Honestly, Valentin, it was nothing, really, just a joke.”

“Then share.” Valentin’s tone was insistent.

Seeing that Alex was floundering, Harry stepped into the breach. “Okay, so there was this exotic dancer who had this snake….” He went on to tell the joke that Dmitri had once told him at Alex’s. When he came to the end, there was a collective laugh from the other teachers. 

Valentin, who had taken his seat, looked across at him with raised eyebrows. “And just why was that considered unsuitable for my ears?”

“Erm, well, I don’t know really.”

Alex had recovered his equilibrium. “Oh, come on, Valentin, has anyone ever heard you tell a dirty joke? Maybe we just all thought you wouldn’t appreciate it?”

Valentin looked at Alex steadily—and went on to tell a very rude joke indeed.

 

****

****

Harry was busy talking to Marta when Valentin rose from the table to go. He allowed the man five minutes, before he excused himself and followed the Offence teacher from the room. Once out of sight of the other teachers, Harry set off at a scamper, intent on catching up with Valentin before the man had passed his, Harry’s, room.

He caught up with Valentin sooner than he imagined; rounding a corner he ran slap into the older wizard, who had been talking to the headmaster. Valentin’s arms came around him to stop him from falling and a dry voice asked, “Where’s the dragon?”

Reluctant as he was to leave the warmth of Valentin’s arms, Harry disentangled himself and stood panting in front of his quarry. “I just…just…remembered…something I wanted…to ask you,” he gasped.

“And this ‘something’ was very urgent, was it?” Valentin asked.

“Erm…well no.”

“Well, Valentin, I’ll leave you and Harry to it,” Vlad said. He sent a ghost of a wink in Harry’s direction and then turned to go, leaving Harry and Valentin staring at one another.

Valentin broke the silence. “So, Mister Potter, what was this ‘pressing’ matter?”

“Wild magic,” Harry blurted.

Valentin frowned. “Wild magic?” he repeated.

Harry had got his breath back. “Yes…I’ve been doing some reading on the subject…and Vlad mentioned you were an expert…and, well, I was sort of hoping that maybe….”

“Spit it out, Mister Potter, we are neither of us getting any younger!”

“Well, there are a couple of things I have questions about…and…would you teach me?” Harry asked desperately, not sure at this point whether he was referring to the Wild magic or to the sex.

Valentin regarded him silently, his eyes intent on Harry’s face as if to judge the seriousness of his question.

“Perhaps,” he said finally.

“Erm, if you’re not doing anything at the moment…?

Valentin glanced at the slim gold watch that graced his wrist. “I have something I have to attend to now, but shall we say three o’clock, in your classroom?”

“Erm, we could use my rooms up here, if you like…they would be more comfortable…and warmer.”

Valentin nodded. “All right…three o’clock in your rooms then, Mister Potter.”

Harry watched the man go off down the passageway with a sense of triumph. He had overcome the first hurdle—that of getting Valentin to agree to teach him…and to do it in Harry’s rooms. 

 

****

****

Harry spent the intervening hour and a half desperately going over some of the things he remembered about Wild magic, and casting his eyes around his room to make sure that everything was in order.

In a small way it had begun to frighten him, just how much he wanted Valentin…how very _necessary_ it seemed to be to his happiness that Valentin liked him—enough to pursue a relationship with him.

When the knock came at his door, Harry was so nervous that he actually toyed with the idea of hiding under his bed and waiting until Valentin had gone away; instead he steeled himself and opened the door.

Valentin was standing in the passageway with a large book under one arm. For several seconds Harry just stared at him, unable to believe that Valentin was actually there, that his plan had worked, until Valentin raised an eyebrow. “Are you going to invite me in, Mister Potter? Or shall we converse here at the threshold?”

“Oh, no, please, come in, come in,” Harry stuttered. He stood back and allowed Valentin to enter, catching a whiff of Valentin’s cologne as the man passed him. “Your aftershave,” he blurted. “It’s very nice…what’s it called?”

Valentin turned back to look at him. “It does not have a name…it is something I have blended especially for myself.”

“Oh, oh I see, well, it’s very nice.”

“Indeed.” Valentin stood in the middle of the room, and Harry wondered what the man was doing, until he realised he had not offered the Offence teacher a seat. “Please, sit down,” he said quickly, remembering his manners. “Can I get you a drink? A gin and tonic?”

“Ah, no, not for me, thank you,” Valentin replied, seating himself in one of the armchairs. “Now, what was it in particular you wished to ask me?” He glanced at the book Harry had left on the side table. “If the books from the library are all you’ve been studying, then it will be pretty much everything,” he added.

Harry took the other seat. “Well, yes, I’m afraid they are…and they seem pretty vague. Maybe it would be better if you pretend I don’t know anything at all?” he suggested, thinking gleefully that that would be an ideal way to extend the time he could keep Valentin in his rooms.

“I doubt that will prove to be a problem,” Valentin said dryly. Then he smiled. A rare, warm, honest smile; and Harry was lost. He felt his stomach clench, his eyes blurred, his heartbeat seemed so loud that he wondered Valentin did not remark upon it. Valentin’s next words seemed to come from a long way away. “Are you quite well, Mister Potter? You’ve gone quite pale?”

“I…I’m fine,” Harry struggled to say. “Please, go on.”

“Well.” Valentin settled back in his chair, placing the book he had brought on top of the one Harry had borrowed from the library. “For a start, Wild magic is not really ‘wild’ magic…it was simply called that by wizards when they were unable to bend it to their will. Wild magic is perhaps better described as ‘earth magic’. It is a natural force, not something that is conjured by a wand, bound by a wizard’s will. It will not obey, it moves as it feels…sometime it will answer your call, if inclined…sometimes not….”

Harry watched, entranced as Valentin’s face took on a softer, more open demeanour. Obviously the Offence teacher was not only an expert on the subject…he was passionate about it.

“It will listen more to women than to men, and has indeed in the past been called ‘woman’s magic’, a derogatory term in the most part, used by wizards who resented the fact that it would turn to a woman’s needs more readily than to a man’s. It is a dangerous force, more powerful than anything you can imagine…if a way was ever found to control it, then that man would rule the world.”

 

****

****

Harry spent the afternoon entranced. If this was the way that Valentin taught his students, he could quite understand their devotion to him. From being a simple means to an end, Harry became more and more interested in what the older wizard had to say about Wild magic. They were neither of them aware of the passage of time until the dinner gong sounded through the school, alerting them to the hour.

Valentin started. “Goodness, is that the time? I must go, Mister Potter.”

“Please, could you, would you, call me Harry?” Harry looked earnestly into Valentin’s eyes.

The Offence teacher returned his look steadily. “If you wish,” he said shortly, rising to his feet. He started towards the door, and then turned back. “I have taught you a little, I hope,” Valentin began.

“You’ve taught me heaps,” Harry enthused. “Really. It is so fascinating. Thank you for taking the time.”

“Well,” Valentin said slowly, “there is much more…if you really _do_ find the subject interesting. I could perhaps spend a little more time teaching you…if you would like me to.”

Harry could have cheered. Everything was working out so well. Okay, so they had not leapt into bed together this time, but maybe that was a good thing…they could give their relationship time to develop and strengthen. He beamed at the older wizard. “I should like that very much indeed.”

“Then I will see you here…not tomorrow, I have other matters to attend to, but perhaps Thursday?”

“That would be great. Will you come here, or shall I come to your rooms?”

“I will come to you.” Valentin said firmly. “If you get chance,” he added, “you might care to read some chapters of the book I have left with you. That way if there is anything of particular interest to you, then we can focus on that.”

“Oh, I will, and thanks again.” Harry got to his feet. “I’ll walk with you down to the dining hall.”

“I am dining in my rooms this evening.”

Harry’s face fell and he struggled not to let his disappointment show. “Oh, oh well, in that case, I’d better get going.”

They exited the room together and Harry watched as Valentin made his way down the corridor to his own rooms, then turned and hurried off in the direction of the dining hall.


	6. Rift

  
Author's notes: A fall out.  


* * *

****

Rift

By the end of the Easter holidays, Harry had discovered two things; that he was keenly interested in the subject of Wild magic, and that he was head over heels in love with Valentin.

Over the two weeks Valentin had spent teaching Harry about Wild magic, Harry had seen a side of the Offence teacher that he doubted many had: he had seen Valentin relax; had seen the man exhibit a wry, dry sense of humour that often had Harry in stitches of laughter; he’d seen Valentin open up and share his knowledge with Harry about a subject that was obviously very close to the older wizard’s heart.

Their afternoons had fallen into a regular pattern. At three o’clock Valentin would knock on the door to Harry’s room and be ushered inside. Then he would take his seat, in what Harry now liked to think of as “Valentin’s chair”. Sometimes they would have a glass of wine, but more often than not they simply settled back in their respective places. Harry would tuck his legs up under him, lean his elbow on the arm of his chair and rest his chin in his hand, then give his undivided attention to the man seated on his right, watching as Valentin’s face relaxed and became mobile and animated. 

He was enraptured by that change—and felt privileged to witness it—the change from the cold, hard exterior that Valentin usually presented to the world, to a softer, more gentle man. Harry had no illusions that Valentin would suddenly start liking kittens, but he now felt that there was less chance the man would be the sort to drown them without a second thought. 

Harry had drunk it in, had wallowed in the growing closeness between them—but he had yet to discover whether Valentin was merely being friendly, or whether there was any possibility that what they had was the beginning of a relationship. Somehow, he just couldn’t bring himself to push matters, scared there was a chance that once his interest in Valentin was out in the open, it would spoil whatever _was_ growing between them should Valentin _not_ wish to have a relationship with him. But as the end of the holidays, and the return of the children, drew ever closer, Harry knew he would have to do something.

 

****

****

The last afternoon before the children arrived back at the castle, Harry prepared for Valentin’s visit as carefully as he had prepared for the man’s first. He nerves resurfaced, and his stomach knotted as he waited for the knock on the door.

Valentin noticed the change in Harry immediately. “Are you all right Mis…Harry?” He scrutinised his host closely. “You seem distracted somehow—would you like to postpone our lesson for today?”

“No, no, I’m fine,” Harry said quickly. “Please, sit down.”

Valentin continued to regard Harry with a curious eye, as he took his seat. He had clearly decided Harry’s nerves at their first meeting were justifiable trepidation, but having seen Harry relax in his presence, the older wizard was obviously now confused as to why Harry seemed nervous once again.

At the end of their session, Harry had still not had the guts to say anything. The last hour before he knew the dinner gong would sound, and end their meeting, he had heard very little of what Valentin had been saying—his mind distracted by what he had to do. 

The great gong boomed, and Valentin stood up. Harry also got to his feet.

“Valentin?” Harry swallowed hard, and summoned up every ounce of Gryffindor courage he possessed. “I just, just wanted to thank you…for all this time you’ve taken to teach me.” He took a step nearer to the dark haired wizard.

Valentin smiled. “You are very welcome…it is rare to find a fellow wizard who is as interested in the subject as myself.”

Harry took another step closer to his quarry. “Well, just the same…thank you.” He closed the last few inches between them, stood on his tip-toes, placed his hands on Valentin’s shoulders, and pressed a kiss to Valentin’s mouth, leaving it just long enough so that Valentin would realise it was slightly more than just a “thank you” kiss. He drew away and gazed with trepidation up into Valentin’s face.

He was right to be fearful; the look on the older wizard’s face would have frightened anybody.

“What are you doing?” the man hissed.

“Well I…,” Harry began.

Valentin cut him off. “Is that what all this has been about? Your interest in Wild magic has been nothing more than an attempt to attract me?”

“No!” Harry said, then, his honesty getting the better of him, added, “Well, _at first_ …but then I really _did_ become interested,” he added quickly, seeing Valentin’s brows draw down.

Valentin said not one word more; he simply turned on his heel and strode from the room, banging the door behind him.

Harry collapsed into the nearest seat, which happened to be the one Valentin had always used. The leather of the chair still retained the warmth and scent of the older wizard, and it was the final straw for Harry. He put his head in his hands and wept. The worst possible outcome had happened...Valentin had spurned his advances, and seemed thoroughly disgusted with Harry into the bargain. He could perhaps have borne rejection, if the Offence teacher had been kind in his treatment, if he had explained that Harry wasn’t his type, or that he wasn’t actually gay. But Valentin had been so angry with Harry for what he obviously saw as Harry’s subterfuge of using Wild magic as a way to get close to him, that he hadn’t been in the least bit inclined to be kind.

Harry was convinced that the look of utter fury, coupled with loathing, on Valentin’s face as he left, would haunt him for months...if not years.

 

****

****

Some time later, there was a knocking at his door. Harry struggled to his feet and raced to open it, thinking desperately that maybe Valentin had had a change of heart. He hadn’t…it was Alex. The Ancient Runes teacher took one look at Harry, and then pushed him back into his room, summoned Festus, and demanded two large brandies. Then he sat Harry down in a chair.

“I take it you’ve just had the brush off from the Ice King?”

Harry nodded, still sniffing and attempting to dry his eyes. He felt worn out and his head ached. When Festus ‘popped’ back in with the drinks, he took the glass of brandy gratefully and swigged it down in one. Then he spent the next few minutes choking, whilst Alex pounded him on his back. When he finally stopped coughing, Alex had requested another brandy.

“Sip this one,” he ordered.

Alex settled back in “Valentin’s chair”, and regarded Harry with concern.

“You’ve really got it bad, haven’t you?”

Harry snuffled and nodded. “I love him, Alex.” Saying the words caused a fresh bout of tears, and Alex sat and patiently waited until they dried up, merely offering Harry a handkerchief when the young wizard’s own got too damp to use.

“Was it an _absolute_ brush off?” Alex asked when Harry finally composed himself.

“I think so…you should have seen his face.”

“Like a bulldog eating a wasp?” Alex hazarded, in an attempt at levity.

Harry giggled, despite himself. “Worse,” he moaned. “I doubt he’ll ever speak to me again. Merlin, it was awful,” he went on miserably. He turned a watery eye on Alex. “I feel so pathetic. I beat Voldemort for god’s sake—and here I am crying my eyes out over a man. But I can’t help it…whatever shall I do?”

“Sod him, and date Jacques…I know for a fact he likes you.”

Harry shook his head. “It’s not that easy. I can’t just move on…I still want him so much it hurts, Alex, it really hurts.”

Alex looked at him with concern. “Pardon me for saying this, and please don’t take it the wrong way, Harry, because I know it’s not your fault, what with everything that’s happened in your life, but in some things you seem a little…young. I take it this is the first time you’ve been in love?”

Harry nodded. “I thought I was in love with Ginny for a while…but it was nothing like this…this seems so… _deep_ …it comes from so far inside me—like it’s my core—like there’s just my body wrapped around this column of love for Valentin, and without it I’ll collapse.”

“Oh, my poor Harry,” Alex said sympathetically.

Harry sniffed and wiped his nose. “I think, I think I’ll go to bed now.”

“No you won’t,” Alex said firmly. “You’re going to come back to my rooms and we’re going to get right, royally pissed.”

“I’d rather be on my own for a bit.”

“What? So you can wallow in self pity? Think again. Come on, I won’t take ‘no’ for an answer. You can come and be sociable with your friends…who care about you. Honestly,” Alex added with a frown, “I could hex Valentin for hurting you like this…if I wasn’t so scared of him!” He laughed and then stood up, pulling Harry to his feet as well. “Come on, I’ve a nice bottle of Châteauneuf I’ve been saving for a special occasion.

“This is hardly a special occasion,” Harry said, reluctantly following the Runes teacher out of his room.

 

****

****

It might have been better if Valentin _hadn’t_ spoken to Harry again; instead he did so, but it was only when necessary during their lessons together—and in a tone of voice so glacial that Harry feared the onset of another ice age. The older wizard also took care to ensure that they were never alone together, perhaps believing that Harry might take the opportunity to proposition him again.

Alex had said to give it time, that Valentin would be bound to forgive and forget—but he had said this in such a tone of voice that made a lie of his words, and led Harry to believe anything but. Alex had also said that given time Harry would get over his infatuation with Valentin—and he had said _this_ in a much more positive tone of voice. This time it was Harry who was nearly certain that no amount of time would ever be long enough for him to stop loving the Offence teacher with all his heart, all his soul and all his flesh.

His friends on the staff made sympathetic noises and managed to restrain themselves from saying, “I told you so”. 

Even the headmaster seemed to have become aware of his heartbreak. “I am sorry, Harry, that things between you and Valentin aren’t working out… I think it would have been good for both of you,” he had said. “I wouldn’t give up on him just yet, though. Valentin has been through a lot and doesn’t give his heart either easily or lightly. It may just take more time…more time for him to realise you are sincere in your feelings, and constant.”

Harry wasn’t sure if he was glad or not, that the headmaster had said what he had. As long as there seemed to be even a _glimmer_ of hope that he might still have a chance with Valentin, then he would find it impossible to move on, and if the headmaster was wrong…then Harry foresaw a long, lonely life ahead of him, or worse, allowing himself to settle for someone else…someone he would always wish was Valentin.

 

****

****

The weeks went by, and the weather grew milder and the days longer. When Harry wasn’t teaching, he took to walking around the grounds when the weather permitted, exploring his surroundings. He wasn’t alone in his migration to the outdoors. The children revelled in their enlarged playground, and the sound of raised, happy voices could be heard echoing through the courtyards and along the pathways.

On one of his rambles, Harry met up with Robert, the Transfiguration teacher, and the two spent the afternoon together. Llewellyn informed Harry that since Vlad’s appointment as headmaster, there had been a considerable relaxation of the rigid rules that had once governed Durmstrang’s pupils. No longer were the children forbidden to speak in the corridors. They were allowed to spend their leisure time in play, rather than in devoted, quiet study. (Harry had a feeling that Hermione, for one, wouldn’t have been in wholehearted support of this change, but, for himself, it gladdened his heart to hear the cheerful sounds of play.) 

The children also now had common rooms. Not for each house, as would have been the case at Hogwarts, but for each peer group. This was another change that Harry approved of, remembering how hard it had been to study in the Gryffindor common room at times, when the younger years, unworried by looming exams, were rowdy and noisy. Previously all the Durmstrang pupils had had to use the huge, gloomy room with the central fireplace—the only place in the castle where it had been permissible to light a fire other than for magical purposes. Harry could only imagine how grim and cold the school must have been in those days.

Within the castle itself, he found many small courtyards that were sheltered from the winds that nearly always blew this high in the mountains. Some were little bigger than an ordinary sized room, and were, as a consequence, damp and cold, surrounded by high, moss-greened walls. Others were wide, light spots where seats were placed to catch the sunlight. Occasionally he found fountains, which Harry could imagine resembled ice sculptures for a large part of the year, when the plumes of water froze and the noise of dancing water went silent, entombed in frost.

Outside the castle, a path ran right around the school, close beneath the great high wall and along the edge of the moat. There were two bridges that crossed the now unfrozen water: the main entrance through which Harry had arrived that first day, and the narrow arch of stone that led to the Quidditch pitch. When Harry wasn’t intending to fly, he often left the castle over the huge draw-bridge at the front of the building. Krum’s warning about werewolves was always in the back of Harry’s mind, and he preferred to avoid the dark, forbidding, fir forest. Instead, he made his way out onto the plain in front of the castle that, now the ice and snow had melted, had become a grassy field, strewn with alpine flowers that nodded and twinkled in the sunshine. Here the children ran and played and Harry was sorely tempted to join them. He was not so far removed from the classroom that he couldn’t remember the games and the fun. 

But his heart remained heavy. Despite the headmaster’s assurance that there might still be hope for he and Valentin, the older wizard gave no indication whatsoever of a thawing in his attitude towards Harry—no inkling that he might be starting to forgive Harry for what he undoubtedly felt was a betrayal. Harry himself, despite his deep misery, tried to be his normal self. He was civil to the Offence teacher, friendly—and he tried not to let the yearning show in his eyes.

It was hard, so very hard, to see the man he loved, every day—and not be able to reach out to him, because he knew he would be repulsed. Harry had thought it bad when he longed for Valentin, and Valentin had seemed unaware of him. It was nothing to how desperately awful it was to long for Valentin, and know the man knew of his desire, and was appalled by it.

Still, he had a job to do and, with a new found maturity, Harry soldiered on, so very grateful for his new friends’ support and encouragement.

 

****

****

In a similar fashion to Hogwarts, the older children were permitted to go in to Arelsbadd, the local town, at the weekends, providing they had written permission from a parent or guardian. The teachers had a rota, so that four of them were on duty in the town, patrolling in pairs, to make sure that the children behaved, and to be on hand should any emergency occur.

One Saturday morning, Harry glanced at the rota on his way into the dining hall. He had walked three steps beyond it, when what he had read finally sank into his brain and pulled him up short. His name was on the list for that day, a fact that didn’t bother Harry at all; he had patrolled before, but the fact that his name was with paired with Valentin’s—now that _did_ worry him. How could he possibly spend the whole day at the side of a man whom he longed to reach out and touch, knowing full well that if he did so that same man would probably hex him into oblivion, so deeply did he despise Harry?

Harry cast a quick eye over the staff table, then, after realising that Vlad was not present, turned on his heel and left the dining hall, determined to see if he could track the headmaster down in his study, and persuade him to change the rota.

Harry had never been up to Vlad’s office before, so he enlisted the help of a nearby fifth year to guide him. On reaching the office, he knocked at the door and held his breath, hoping desperately that the man he sought was in. He was. Vlad’s voice bade him enter, and Harry advanced into the headmaster office.

Vlad was obviously as much a fan of the sunlight as Harry, because his room was high in one of the gatehouse towers, and long widows let in copious quantities of light. The sunlight lit a well proportioned room, which was minimal in its style of decoration except for one huge, hideously carved chair made from some black wood, which sat incongruously in one corner of the room. The headmaster followed the direction of Harry’s eyes.

“Ah yes,” he remarked. “The ‘Headmaster’s Chair’. I have tried on numerous occasions to remove the monstrosity, but sadly to no avail. Wherever I Banish it, by the next morning it has always returned here. Thankfully I have trained it to now return to the corner in which you see it...rather than behind my desk. Pepper Imp?”

Vlad pushed a bowl of the fiery little sweets in Harry’s direction, and the young wizard briefly wondered if it was some strange wizardly requirement that all headmasters had to have a penchant for sweets. He shook his head. “No, thank you.”

“Have a seat.” Vlad waved his hand in the direction of a beige upholstered chair, which looked as if it might well have started life in a certain Swedish furniture manufacturer’s catalogue. Harry sat, wondering how to broach the subject he had come to discuss. The headmaster saved him the bother. “I guess that you have seen today’s Arelsbadd rota and are here to plead your case for not pairing with Valentin?”

Harry nodded. “It’s not that _I_ mind so much,” he began, somewhat untruthfully. “It’s just that he....”

He got no further. There was a loud knock on the office door and, without waiting to be asked to enter, Valentin came in.

“Ah, and here is the other injured party,” Vlad said, not bothering to disguise the humour in his voice. He steepled his fingers and beamed at them both. 

Valentin glared at Harry, and flung himself into another chair. He was obviously quite at home in the headmaster’s office, and Harry remembered Alex telling him that the two had been friends for quite some time. Both Harry and Valentin began to speak at once.... They were immediately silenced by the headmaster.

“I know why you are both here...to ask that I change today’s rota. I’ll tell you both the same thing...I will not change it.” Although he was smiling, Vlad’s voice held a steely core. “I know there is some, ah, _awkwardness_ between you, and I believe a day spent in each other’s company will do you both good.” He raised a hand to forestall Valentin’s protests. “I mean what I say…I will not change my mind on this matter. Now, I believe you should both be in town in half an hour, so I suggest you attend to whatever matters need attending to. Valentin, will you stay for a moment?”

Harry took this as his cue to leave, and, bidding the headmaster goodbye, he exited the office, hearing, as he closed the door behind him, Valentin’s voice raised in argument. Well, he wished the man luck—personally he had seen the determined look in the headmaster’s eye and, whilst he cursed the man for meddling, he knew Vlad’s mind was not going to be changed on this subject. And who knew, perhaps Vlad was right, maybe it would do Harry and Valentin good to spend some time together out of the school.

 

****

****

Pausing only long enough to summon Festus to bring him a cloak and guide him back to the Floo connection, Harry arrived in Arelsbadd a scant fifteen minutes after he had left the headmaster’s office—then he had to kick his heels for another fourteen minutes until, at the last possible moment, Valentin joined him. The older wizard’s face was as black as thunder, and he swept past Harry without a word. So, Harry thought wryly, despite being friends with the headmaster, Valentin had not managed to change the man’s mind.

The two other patrolling teachers had already set off on their rounds, and Harry hurried after Valentin, finally catching up with the dark-haired wizard. They walked in silence for some way, Harry pattering at Valentin’s side, wondering desperately if he should say something. He couldn’t bear the thought of spending the day wrapped in the frigid silence that had fallen between them.

“Look,” he began. “I don’t like this anymore than you do.”

“What rot!” Valentin snapped. “I wouldn’t put it past you to have arranged the whole damn thing.”

“I most certainly did not!” Harry countered. “Why do you think I was in the headmaster’s office? I knew you wouldn’t like it so…”

“Ha! So you admit that _you_ have no objection to our pairing?”

They ceased their conversation as they walked past a group of fourth years, then Harry answered in a hissed undertone. “Of course I wasn’t happy about it—because I knew what you’d think…and what a grump you’d be,” he added angrily. “But if you think for one minute that I’m prepared to spend the whole day in silence, you’ve got another think coming. Can’t we put what happened behind us,” he went on desperately. “I’m sorry you feel that somehow I betrayed you…I didn’t mean to.”

“It’s always the same with you, isn’t it, Potter? You think that whatever you want, you should have it…no matter what you have to do to get it. Well, let me assure you, that you can do what you like, but I won’t be one of your conquests.” Valentin shut his mouth into a thin hard line.

Harry stared at him, flabbergasted. “I don’t think that at all…how can you say that?”

“Oh, come on, Potter. You’ve always been everyone’s little darling. Even as a child you had everyone twisted around your little finger. You were forgiven for transgressions other children would have been expelled for…I suppose your habit of getting away with things has just continued into adulthood.”

“There were reasons….”

“Excuses, you mean?”

“No, ‘reasons’! For the large part of the time I was fighting Voldemort, for Merlin’s sake! I think that’s a pretty good reason for the rules to have been relaxed for me occasionally.”

“Relaxed? Occasionally?” Valentin hooted. “I gather there was a new rule book made up especially for you, by Albus Dumbledore…do you know what was written in it?” Without giving Harry chance to respond, Valentin went on. “Nothing.”

Harry opened and shut his mouth wordlessly. He couldn’t believe it; Severus Snape had said almost exactly the same thing to him during one of their frequent shouting matches. “I....” he began faintly. He was cut off.

“Forget it!” Valentin snarled. “It was foolish to think you might have changed since those days, you obviously have not.”

They had come to a row of shops and for several hundred yards they walked in silence past knots of chattering children. By the time it was safe to speak again, Harry was fuming.

“How the hell do you know what I was like then? All you’re going on is hearsay and rumour! And what makes you think I haven’t changed...let’s face it, you’ve never really given me any chance to show you one way or the other, have you!”

“Your trickery shows me quite adequately that you still regard yourself to be above and beyond the mores set out for other people.”

“How?” Harry demanded. “And how else was I suppose to approach you? You’re about as approachable as a Hungarian Horntail, and I should know. God,” Harry was in his stride now, “I want you so bloody much—although I’m beginning to wonder why—that I thought of everything and anything to get you to notice me. Whilst I admit that in the beginning I used Wild magic as an excuse to get you to talk to me, to spend time with me, I ended up being really interested in what you had to say. So I’m sorry, okay? I’m sorry that you felt I tricked you...sorry that you don’t want me—sorry for just about goddam _everything_.”

There was a brief, chilly silence, and then Valentin said, “Have you _quite_ finished?”

“Oh, fuck off,” Harry said bitterly, already regretting his outburst.

Valentin said nothing, but from the corner of his eye, Harry noticed a faint smirk on the man’s face.

“And you can stop smirking as well!”

They had halted at the far end of the village street, away from the shops and the crowds of children. Valentin turned to his companion. “Are there any other orders you wish to dictate? So far I’m to ‘fuck off’—your words, not mine—and ‘stop smirking’. Perhaps you wish me to turn a handstand or two for your entertainment?”

Harry allowed a glimmer of a smile to twist the corners of his mouth; after all, the thought of the icy Offence teacher turning handstands in the middle of the street _was_ rather amusing. “How’s about we go back to just being friends...like we were when you were teaching me?”

“Is that an order?”

“It’s a request...a really _serious_ request...please?”

Valentin swung around, and started to walk back the way they had come. “Friends, Mister Potter? We were never friends...acquaintances, with what I _believed_ was a common interest, maybe, but never _friends_.” With that the older wizard shut his mouth like a trap and stalked away.

Harry heaved a great sigh. He couldn’t understand how he could so desperately love a man who regarded him in the way that Valentin obviously did, but the fact remained that he _did_ love the irascible older wizard. He had clearly completely underestimated just how badly the Offence teacher felt about Harry using Wild magic as an excuse to get close to the man he loved. But then, as he thought about it, Harry wondered if it was because Valentin had put off some of his armour when he had come to Harry’s room, had perhaps opened up more of himself than he had intended in his enthusiasm for his pet subject, and now he regretted it.

He watched the stiff, retreating figure for a moment, before hurrying to catch up with Valentin.

“Valentin,” he panted, as he reached the older wizard’s side. “I really am sorry for deceiving you. I was desperate, but I won’t use that as an excuse. You’re right; I should have been honest with you.” He looked beseechingly up at the Offence teacher.

Valentin still looked angry, but Harry thought he could see a slight softening of the man’s face. “Yes, Mister Potter, you should have been honest. I took a great deal of my time to instruct you in a subject that I though you were seriously interested in—only to find you were using it as an excuse to lure me to your room.”

“I admit that I used it as an excuse that first time, but you made the subject so interesting that I soon became fascinated.”

Valentin refrained from comment, but now Harry was sure the older wizard’s anger was abating. Perhaps it would turn out that the headmaster had been right to force them to spend time together. Maybe all they needed was to clear the air, and they could go back to being friends, because despite what Valentin said, Harry was sure that he and the Offence teacher _had_ become friends during the afternoons they spent together. And then, perhaps, if Harry took things slowly, maybe there was a chance that Valentin might see his way clear to considering Harry as a potential partner.

“So,” Harry asked tentatively, “Will you consider forgiving me?”

“I may consider forgiving you, Mister Potter, but rest assured that I will never, _ever_ consider getting into bed with you.”


	7. The Depths To Which He'd Sink

  
Author's notes: Harry figures out just who Valentin is. Now, what will he do with the information?  


* * *

****

The Depths to Which He’d Sink

The rest of the day in Arelsbadd had passed relatively easily—if one could discount Harry’s pain at Valentin’s pronouncement that he would never consider sleeping with Harry. They had only had to reprimand three sixth years for a brief scuffle over whose Quidditch team was best; the other children, having heard via the grapevine that Valentin was on patrol, and was not in a good mood, were on their best behaviour.

They had joined the other two patrolling teachers for lunch at the inn where the Floo connection was, and the meal had started out as quite a pleasant affair until Lila and Robin had made a comment that seemed to indicate that they thought Harry and Valentin were a couple like themselves. Harry had blushed crimson, and been sure that Valentin had actually started for his wand before managing to restrain himself. Instead, the older wizard spent the rest of the meal glaring at the unfortunate pair who, aware that they had made some sort of gaffe, departed as soon as they could reasonably do so.

Bang on five o’clock, curfew time, Harry and Valentin shooed the last few stragglers through the Floo connection and then returned to the castle themselves. Harry was tired, not so much from the patrolling duty, but from the mental anguish of having spent the day replaying Valentin’s words over and over in his head. 

Side by side, in silence, Harry and Valentin made their way to their respective chambers. Valentin made the effort to bid Harry a muttered “Good night” at the door to Harry’s rooms, then, without waiting for a reply, continued down the corridor to his own chamber. 

Unable to face the questions he was bound to get at dinner, Harry asked Festus to bring him a sandwich. Then he had a long, hot bath and went to bed.

 

****

****

He awoke at three o’clock in the morning, so wide awake it was as if someone had rushed into the room and shouted, “Voldemort’s back!”—and very nearly as frightened—for he suddenly knew who Valentin was…who he _really_ was.

He couldn’t have said what part of his brain had been quietly mulling over the clues, but once it had come up with an answer, it had set off every alarm bell in his head. Harry sat bolt upright in bed and stared into the darkness, eyes wide, mouth dry, trying to convince himself he was wrong. But the more he thought about it, the more he was sure he was right.

And then—what frightened him even more—was the realisation that, despite now knowing who Valentin really was, he still loved the man, still wanted him with a need every bit as desperate as before.

And now he had the means to get what he wanted.

The thought had sprung into Harry’s head before he had a chance to repel it, and then, like a wolf round a camp fire, it skirted the edges of his consciousness, steadfastly refusing to leave. Harry tried to ignore it, tried to look the other way, but in the end he allowed the wolf to approach into the firelight until he stood face to face with it.

He could do it, he knew he could do it; the question was, should he? Of course he shouldn’t, the Gryffindor part of his brain argued; whilst at the same time the Slytherin part pointed out that it would be a shame to waste such an ideal opportunity to get what he wanted, and at the same time pay Valentin back for his unkindness: for his unjustness at denouncing Harry for lying when he himself was practising a far greater deception, and most of all for just being who he really was. Surely if Harry couldn’t get what he wanted by fair means, he could resort to foul? But if he did, wouldn’t he just be doing exactly what Valentin had accused him of? Using any means necessary to get what he wanted?

Then again, the man who Valentin really was would never have scrupled to take what _he_ wanted, and by whatever means necessary...a man like that deserved to be paid pack in his own coin.

Harry wrestled with his conscience for a good hour, before the Slytherin side of his brain, aided and abetted by Desire and Want, staged a coup, and managed to thrust the Gryffindor notions of Fair Play and Honour into a box—and then proceeded to sit on the lid, grinning. 

What Harry was planning had to be carefully thought out, and he did not sleep again that night as his mind worked through the details. The man he was dealing with had been a ruthless strategist, and Harry had to be sure he had every eventuality covered...even down to the fact that it was quite possible the man might try to kill him. In the darkness Harry grinned a mirthless grin...well, the Offence teacher might just find that Harry was pretty stubborn about remaining alive when it came to people trying to polish him off—still, it wouldn’t hurt to have a back-up plan.

 

****

****

The last lesson of the following day was a joint one, the Offence and Defence groups of sixth years together, showing what they had learned. At the end of the lesson Harry made sure that all the children had departed before he approached Valentin.

“Mister Potter,” the man said coldly. “I’m busy, please excuse me.”

“No.” Harry wordlessly and wandlessly summoned Valentin’s wand, bringing his own up and training it on the older wizard. Valentin looked stunned for a moment, then he was on the defensive.

“What’s this, Potter? Won’t take ‘no’ for an answer?”

“I know who you are,” Harry said with a calmness he certainly wasn’t feeling.

Valentin looked exasperated. “Well, of course you know who I am, we’ve been teaching together for the best part of five months.”

There was no trace of worry in the man’s voice, and for one panicked moment Harry wondered if he was wrong, if Valentin was indeed just Valentin, and not the man Harry thought he was. However, he pushed on.

“No, I know who you _really_ are.”

Valentin stared at him. “I have no idea what you are talking about, Mister Potter, but it seems to me that it might be advisable for you to book yourself an appointment at the nearest hospital and have a mental health check.”

“Oh, there’s nothing wrong with my mental health…Lucius.” 

Merlin, but the man was good. There was only the merest flicker, and if Harry hadn’t been watching the man’s expression as closely as he had been, he might have missed it. But that tiny muscle twitch had given the game away, and Harry felt a surge of triumph.

“Lucius? What are you talking about…you know very well my name is Valentin.”

“Let’s cut the crap, Mister Malfoy. I know who you are, so you might as well stop arsing about.”

Valentin gave Harry a long calculating look, then he shrugged elegantly. “All right then, Mister Potter, we’ll play ‘pretend’ if that is what you wish. So, let’s imagine, however _preposterous_ the idea might be, that I really _am_ Lucius Malfoy… I suppose you will be running to your little Order friends to tell them about the big, bad Death Eater that you’ve captured.”

Harry swung Valentin’s wand idly between his fingers. “Actually, no…that’s not quite what I had in mind.”

For a second Valentin looked startled, then he schooled his features into an expression of boredom. “Really, so what _do_ you intend to do?” he asked, in a tone of voice that seemed to suggest he wasn’t bothered about the answer.

“I want you,” Harry said baldly.

“What?” Valentin demanded incredulously.

“You will come to my rooms, once a week, and you will do whatever I say.”

“You _are_ mad—my earlier supposition was correct.”

“It’s up to you of course,” Harry said easily, as if Valentin’s answer didn’t matter to him as much as it did. “You can stay here, teach, enjoy your freedom…and come to me once a week. Or you can rot in Azkaban for the rest of your life. I hear they have special cells for Death Eaters—and as for you, as _you’ve_ escaped once already—well, for you I’m sure they’ll find somewhere _very_ secure. You’ll probably be in manacles most of the time, I expect. And you can be damn sure that _I’ll_ make certain that you really _will_ be there for the _rest of your life_.”

“And what makes you think I won’t just disappear the moment your back is turned?”

“You see, here’s the thing…I don’t think you have anywhere left to go. Why else would you be here, teaching? I know for a fact that the Ministry impounded all your estates and money, the moment they were alerted to your escape…and if you had any secret accounts they didn’t know about—why then again you wouldn’t be here…after all, a Malfoy, reduced to _teaching_?”

Harry watched Valentin closely.

The man looked back at him, stony-faced. “And what’s to say I won’t _kill_ you the moment your back is turned?”

“I was up very early this morning,” Harry said, in a conversational tone of voice. “You see, I spent an hour last night writing letters—to be opened in the event of my untimely death—and I wanted to post them. Of course, the one to the headmaster I could hand-deliver.”

Something in Valentin’s expression made Harry gasp. “He knows! Vlad already knows who you really are!” And then, in a tone of righteous indignation he added, “And he _still_ tried to get us together!”

“What?” Valentin exclaimed.

“It was Vlad who advised me to talk to you about Wild magic.”

Valentin muttered something under his breath through clenched teeth.

“I really am interested, you know…in Wild magic.” Why Harry felt the need to point this out at this juncture, he wasn’t sure. “Maybe we could continue my lessons…when you come to me each week.”

“And what makes you think for one moment that I’ll concede to your outrageous demands?” Valentin asked scornfully.

“Well,” Harry snapped, “I guess you’ll just have to decide which is worse…an _hour_ pleasing me once a week…or a _lifetime_ rotting in Azkaban prison.”

Valentin fumed for several minutes whilst Harry watched him, never dropping his guard for a moment. 

Finally the older wizard spoke. “Well, it’s a tough choice, but I suppose, on reflection, that an hour in your company once a week is _marginally_ better than a lifetime in a cold, damp cell with a hole in the floor to serve as a latrine.”

Harry grinned, careful not to show the upset that Valentin’s words had caused. “I knew you’d see it my way.” He fished in his pocket and withdrew a heavy silver ring. “Oh, and I’d like you to wear this.” He tossed the ring to Valentin, who snatched it out of the air and examined it. Before he could ask, Harry supplied the answer.

“It’s a Portkey. It will only activate if you go more than five miles from the castle. So you can go to the town.”

“And where will it take me?”

This time Harry’s smile was cruel. “As it says on the Monopoly board: “Go to Jail, go directly to Jail. Do not pass Go, do not collect £200.”

Valentin looked pained. “What _are_ you blathering about, boy?”

“Azkaban.” Harry said shortly.

Valentin looked back at the ring he held loosely between his fingers. “It’s very ugly.”

“It’s all I had. We can go shopping for rings in Arelsbadd next weekend, if you like.” Harry raised his eyebrows suggestively.

Valentin gave him a withering look, and slipped the ring into his pocket.

“Ah, no, Mister Malfoy, the ring works best when worn.” Harry lifted his wand and gestured with it. “On! Now! Or our deal is off.”

Slowly Valentin withdrew the ring from his pocket, his dark grey eyes fixed on Harry. Equally slowly he pushed the ring onto the third finger of his right hand. “Oh, what a pity…it doesn’t fit. Oh well….”

“Try another finger,” Harry ordered through clenched teeth. He knew as well as Valentin that if he magically altered the size of the ring it would nullify the effect of the Portkey.

In the end the only finger that the ring fitted was Valentin’s ring finger on his left hand. “And just how am I supposed to explain this?” the older wizard demanded.

“You’ll have to tell everyone you had a change of heart about me, we had a whirlwind courtship, lasting,” Harry glanced at his watch, “half an hour, and decided to swear our undying love for one another.” It hurt, it hurt a lot, to joke about something that Harry had once hoped so desperately might have been the actual outcome of his and Valentin’s growing closeness.

Valentin sneered. “Oh, yes, I can just see everyone believing that!”

“You know what, I don’t give a flying fuck _what_ you tell everyone. That ring will not come off your finger, so deal with it.”

Valentin pulled at the ring…only to find that Harry had spoken the truth—the ring was well and truly fixed to his finger. Harry watched him struggle with it for a few seconds. “Only I can take it off for you,” he said at last.

“Marvellous,” Valentin said, his voice heavy with sarcasm. “I’m stuck with a ring a blind troll wouldn’t have picked, and I have to wear it on my wedding ring finger. What joy.”

Harry would have giggled, if the situation hadn’t been so awful. He had known that it would be demeaning, to have to blackmail Lucius into coming to him, an admission that the man would not have come otherwise. But he had been desperate, and there was a small part of him that clung to the hope that he and Lucius could regain some of the closeness he had shared with Valentin. Harry refused to listen to the voice that asked that, had the positions been reversed, he could ever have found it in himself to forgive Lucius, and come to accept the older wizard? As for the voice that shrilly screamed at him that he should turn Lucius in immediately…well, Harry was figuratively holding his hands over his ears and humming loudly.

He turned to go.

“How did you know?” Valentin suddenly asked.

Harry turned back. “Your scent.”

“My scent?”

“Yes, it’s so distinctive—and then you told me you had it specially made for you. Some part of me must have remembered that I’d smelt it before; it just took a while to remember where and on whom. Back when we first met,” Harry went on, “at Flourish and Blotts…then later at school. And finally at the Ministry of Magic, when you had me pinned to the floor, your scent was all around me. Then I smelt the same scent on Valentin, only I didn’t recognise it at first…or remember on whom I had smelt it.”

“I see. A change of aftershave is in order, I think,” Valentin said dryly.

“And there was the handkerchief I found in your cloak pocket…the one with “L” embroidered in the corner. Not “L” for your ‘friend’ Lawrence, but “L” for Lucius.” 

“I shall be more circumspect about what I leave in my pockets in the future.”

“Oh, and something you said when we were patrolling…about a rule book being written just for me. At the time I just thought it was a really weird co-incidence that you used almost the exact words Severus once used. But of course, you being who you really are, he could very well have said them directly to you.”

“And very apt they were too.”

Harry had a question of his own. “And you? How are you so different? I know it’s not Polyjuice, as you have to take that at least once an hour.”

“And what on earth makes you think I’m going to tell you that?”

Harry didn’t speak; he simply raised his wand a fraction.

Valentin's lips thinned and he stared angrily at the tip of the shaft of holly being pointed at him. Then he seemed to shimmer before Harry’s face. For one moment Harry thought the man was going to disappear, but then it was as if he were looking into water—only the reflection looking back at him was Valentin. Next, as if someone had thrown a pebble into the pool, the reflection broke up, shattered into pieces…and reformed as Lucius Malfoy.

But the person before Harry had changed from the beautiful, proud man that Harry had once known. This Malfoy was older, more lined. There were shadows beneath the eyes and he was thinner, almost fragile looking. His eyes, a lighter grey than Valentin’s, were tired and there was a sag to his shoulders that spoke of weariness and defeat. 

As if aware of the direction of Harry’s thoughts, Lucius pulled himself up to stand straighter.

“But what?” Harry wondered, frowning. “No.…You? A Metamorphmagus? But Tonks never said.”

“She never knew…there are very few who do. And my talents are limited; I am not a true Metamorphmagus.”

“Your talents looked pretty impressive to me.”

“A true Metamorphmagus can change any part of them…or all of themselves, at will, into whatever they so chose. I have just this one form, and, if you consider it carefully, it still retains a great many of my own features.”

“But why didn’t you just change when you were in prison?”

“What would have been the point? Iron bars are iron bars…no matter what one looks like.”

“But it was how you got out,” Harry said with conviction.

“Indeed. But I needed to wait for the right time…and the right motivation.”

Harry looked rueful. “Oh, yeah. We heard about your wife and Draco being killed by Voldemort. Actually, we figured he’d killed you as well…when we never saw you after you escaped. Of course, we wouldn’t have…you were here.”

Once again the dinner gong punctuated their conversation.

“I guess you’d better start thinking up an explanation for that ring,” Harry said with an evil smile.

“I shall say it was a gift from an aged relative…one that is, however, possessed of a large fortune—but sadly no taste whatsoever.”

Harry laughed. “Well, I’ve offered to buy you a new one.”

Lucius glared at him. “Somehow, Mister Potter, were I to _choose_ a ring, it would make it seem as if I were somehow complicit in this arrangement, whereas I am, of course, not. May I have my wand back? Or am I to think of some explanation for its disappearance?”

Harry tossed back the shaft of ebony. “You can have your wand back, Malfoy…just don’t think of using it on me. I’m more powerful that you know.”

“Oh, Mister Potter,” Lucius said quietly, “I have no illusions whatsoever about the extent of your power.”

Still glaring at Harry, Lucius shifted back into Valentin, then he turned on his heel and left the classroom. Harry followed him more slowly. On the one hand he was jubilant that his plan had worked; on the other he wondered just what he had done. It was one thing to cage a tiger…it was quite another to think of entering that cage with the beast.

Still another part of him thought that it had all been just a little too easy.

 

****

****

“I’ll see you later,” Harry muttered, as he leant over the back of Valentin’s chair.

“Will you?” Valentin enquired casually, with a raise of his eyebrows.

“My room, ten o’clock,” Harry hissed, then made his way from the dining hall.

It had been three days since he had made his deal with Lucius, three days during which he had battled with his conscience about what he was doing. But the Slytherin part of him, having gained the upper hand for once, was determined not to take a back seat again and was gleefully egging him on.

At ten o’clock he was scrubbed, and waiting for the knock on the door to his room. His stomach was a tangle of knots and his throat felt dry, and when the knock finally came, Harry was nearly sick with a mixture of dread and anticipation.

He hurriedly answered the door and let Valentin in; the older wizard, his face thunderous, strode into the room and then stood waiting, his arms folded and his foot tapping.

Now that Harry had Valentin exactly where he had always wanted him…here, in his room, ready to do his bidding, he was at a loss to know what to do with the man. But there was one thing he did know. “I want you…the _real_ you, not who you are pretending to be.”

If it was possible, Valentin’s face grew even darker, and suddenly Harry understood that Lucius would very much have preferred it if Harry had wanted Valentin… That way he could, to some extent, distance himself from what he had to go through in order to retain his freedom. For a moment the man looked as if he might argue, then there was a ripple and Lucius stood before Harry.

“Do you...can I get you a drink?” Harry queried tentatively.

“No,” Lucius snapped. “Look, Potter, let’s not try and dress this up to be anything other than the sordid business that it is. I suppose that what you want is to take from me what I was unprepared to give willingly, so let’s just get on with it, shall we? I have always found it better to tackle unpleasant tasks as soon as possible, in order to get them over with.” 

That said, Lucius’ hands went to the buttons on his jacket and, one by one, started to slip the rounds of jet from their buttonholes. Harry watched in fascination as slowly Lucius’ body was revealed to him, until finally the man stood bare before him, supremely confident in his body and unashamed of his nakedness.

He was right to be. Old as Lucius was—in Harry’s mind—he still possessed a firm and fit body. Smooth, pale expanses of skin skimmed well-defined muscles. On his chest a smattering of ash blonde hair fringed pale pink nipples that budded from roundels of light brown areole, and further down, on Lucius’ flat belly, a thin line led like an arrow from just below the navel, pointing to the long cock that lay quiescent, dangling from its bed of wiry curls, impressive even in its dormant state. Long legs led down to slim, highly arched feet. 

“Shall I add ‘voyeur’ to your list of _accomplishments_?” Lucius sneered.

Harry suddenly recollected himself, forced his eyes away from Lucius’ body, and began to shed his own clothes, acutely conscious of Lucius watching him, and wishing now that he had undressed at the same time as the older wizard. Harry finally pushed down his boxer shorts and then stood, nervously trying to gauge Lucius’ reaction to his body.

Lucius’ face remained completely expressionless.

“Erm,” Harry began. “Is there any side of the bed you prefer?” 

Lucius gave him a contemptuous look, stalked to the side of the bed nearest to him, and then lay down on top of the covers, flat on his back, arms by his side. He resembled a marble statue—like the sort found in churches that depict the dead from ages past.

As Harry clambered onto his own side of the bed, he asked, “Will you be warm enough? Wouldn’t we be better under the covers?” As soon as he had settled himself, Harry put out the majority of the candles in the room with a wave of his hand, leaving only the two candles that stood on the mantelpiece.

“How romantic,” Lucius said with deep sarcasm. “If this wasn’t going to be tantamount to rape, I’d be charmed.”

“You can always change you mind,” Harry snapped, “if the thought of going to bed with me is _so_ abhorrent to you.”

In answer, Lucius merely sighed heavily.

Knowing better than to hope for anything that might possibly be classed as foreplay, Harry reached into the drawer of his bedside table and retrieved the tube of lubricant that Alex had given him all those weeks ago. Despite the awkwardness of the situation, his cock was already hard at the thought of what was about to happen. He handed the tube to Lucius…who took it as if it were a dead mouse. The older wizard’s lip twisted. “And just what am I supposed to do with _this_?”

Harry gaped. “You mean you don’t know?”

“Have I ever given you any reason to suppose that I should?” Lucius snapped.

Never in Harry’s wildest dreams had he ever thought he might have to show his bed partner what to do—Merlin, he hardly knew himself—but then most of his fantasies had involved Valentin, a man who, it was supposed by nearly everyone, was gay. 

He opened and shut his mouth a few times, desperately trying to remember what his books had to say on the subject of preparation. “Well,” he said finally, “you squeeze some out onto your fingers and then you have to….”

“Silence!” Lucius barked. “I may have to fuck you, Potter, but I’ll be damned if I’ll listen to you prattle as well.” He flung the tube in the direction of the bedside table where it dropped neatly back into the still open drawer.

“But….” Harry began, worry creasing his face. His books had been most particular about the necessity of preparing the body to accept his partner’s cock.

“Get on your hands and knees.”

“But….” Harry tried again, moving to comply with Lucius’ instructions, even as the protests formed on his lips. 

Lucius Summoned his wand with a muttered spell, then jabbed the tip cruelly into Harry’s arse. Harry was just about to leap off the bed, when the most amazing sensation pooled through his channel. It felt as if he were being slowly filled with a warm, thick substance, and his passage twitched and fluttered. From the corner of his eye, Harry saw Lucius take his still soft prick in his hand and stoke it to hardness, then the long length was pressed to Harry’s body.

“I thought you said you didn’t know what to do,” Harry gasped.

“No. I never said that,” Lucius corrected—then pushed into Harry’s body. Harry took a great gulp of air. He only realised that he had not released it when Lucius said sharply, “Do try and remember to breathe, Potter, it is most irritating when the person one is about to fuck, faints.”

Harry let out the breath with a whoosh, just as Lucius pressed more of himself into Harry’s body…and right over what Harry assumed was his prostate, because he most definitely experienced the “exquisite pleasure” the books had described. He let out a groan of need…the need to be filled, to be taken, to have Lucius pounding into him. His books had warned that one’s first experience of anal sex might well be an uncomfortable or even painful affair, especially if the ‘bottom’ had not been diligently prepared. But then the books had made no mention of the spell that Lucius had used, which Harry was quite sure was far more effective than any amount of finger-prodding and scissoring.

Another shove, and now Harry could feel Lucius’ balls resting against his arse. The older man stilled, his fingers hard on Harry’s hips, then he began to thrust—long, slow strokes that had Harry moaning wantonly in next to no time. He began to rock back, to meet Lucius’ drives into him as the older wizard began to increase his tempo.

It was amazing. It was better than anything that Harry could have imagined. He lost himself in the novel sensations crowding through his body, feelings which were suddenly added to as Lucius’ hand wrapped around his cock and began to stroke Harry in rhythm with his thrusts into the young wizard’s body. Harry’s fingers dug into the fur coverlet beneath him and he hollowed his back in an attempt to encourage Lucius to drive into him harder and faster. It was as if he couldn’t get enough. He had waited so long to experience this act, and now he was on his hands and knees with Lucius’ cock pounding into him. 

Although many a man in Lucius’ position might have purposely hurt Harry, or been deliberately rough and careless, Lucius obviously had too much pride in himself to do anything badly if it was within his capability to do it well. And he did it _very_ well. Thus it was that he took Harry to the heights of pleasure, before giving him that small push that sent the Gryffindor spiralling into his orgasm, crying out Lucius’ name as he shot string after string of pearly come over his bed covers and the older wizard’s hand. 

Harry was vaguely aware of Lucius coming deep inside him as he drifted down from his great high, the act sending miniature shock waves through his body, like tremors after an earthquake.

He sagged down to lie on the bed, Lucius still embedded inside him, and for a few minutes they were united in their post-orgasmic lassitude, until Lucius pulled himself from Harry’s body and rolled to lie on his own side of the bed. He seized his wand again and Harry felt a fizz in the area of his groin as Lucius cast a cleaning spell, first at himself, and then at Harry.

“Thanks,” he gasped. Then he shivered as the sweat started to cool on his body. He manoeuvred himself under the covers and then glanced at the clock on his bedside table. It was ten forty-five. He glanced at the man lying next to him. “You may as well get in,” he suggested. “Keep warm. I’ve got fifteen minutes left.”

“So you intend to get your pound of flesh, then?”

“I just thought we could have a glass of wine.” Lucius remained silently lying on the covers. “Look,” Harry began patiently, staring at the canopy of the bed above him. “I know that this is not an ideal situation….”

“That’s the understatement of the year.”

“But it doesn’t have to be _so_ awful,” Harry continued. “Surely… _surely_ , I’m not that bad? I mean, I know it’s my first time, so I don’t really know what to do, but I’m bound to get better with practice and….”

“What?” 

“I’m bound to get better….”

“No,” Lucius interrupted, suddenly looming over Harry and looking down at him piercingly. “Do you mean to tell me that I just took your virginity?”

Harry looked up into the pale grey eyes and nodded. “Yes…so that’s why I probably wasn’t very….”

“And you thought it acceptable to offer something so important to a man whom you had to blackmail to sleep with you?” Lucius asked incredulously.

“I didn’t really…I don’t suppose I really thought about it…I just wanted you so much.” Harry gazed earnestly up into Lucius’ face. 

The older wizard threw himself back onto his own side of the bed. “Really, you flabbergast me, Potter. The night you lose your virginity should be one you remember fondly for the rest of your life.”

“I will,” Harry assured him.

Lucius turned a sceptical eye on him. “You’ll remember fondly the fact that you lost your virginity to a man you had to bribe to get into your bed? Somehow I find that hard to believe…unless the war had more effect on you than anyone suspected.” He swung his legs over the side of the bed and got to his feet, reaching for his clothes. “I’ll have that drink now,” he added.

Harry got out of his own side of the bed, dragged on his dressing gown, and went and poured Lucius a drink from the bottle of red wine he had asked Festus to leave on his desk. He silently handed the glass of wine to the blonde wizard, who took it from him and downed half of it in one gulp.

“I’m beginning to understand why your little band of hangers-on were so reluctant to let you out into the wide world on your own, Potter.”

Harry looked astonished. “How did you know about that?”

Lucius smirked. “I have my sources.” He glanced at the clock on the mantelpiece. “And now your time is up.” A shimmer, and he was Valentin again. “Goodnight.” With that he handed the half-empty glass back to Harry, turned on his heel, and left.

Harry stood, the glass in his hand, staring at the door Lucius had just left by. He was stunned; everything had happened so quickly, it didn’t seem five minutes since Lucius had arrived. He cast a quick glance at his watch to make sure some sort of deception hadn’t been practiced on him, but Lucius really had spent the allotted hour in Harry’s company. Absentmindedly Harry turned the glass in his hand until the bit of the rim Lucius had drunk from was opposite his lips, then he drank the remainder of the wine.

Of course, where he had gone wrong was to allow Lucius to take control of the situation. Harry had planned for them to sit by the fire and have a glass of wine, perhaps indulge in a little conversation about Wild magic for fifteen minutes, then they would have repaired to Harry’s bed and fucked. Harry hadn’t supposed there would have been any time left after that and had envisaged himself sleepily bidding Lucius goodnight as the older wizard left.

Next time he had to make sure he dictated the course the hour would take, then perhaps he wouldn’t be left feeling like a Knockturn Alley Whore. 

 

**Author's Notes**

Okay, a little explanation about how the rest of the story will be written with regard to Lucius/Valentin. Please assume that when Lucius is addressed as Valentin that he is in disguise. The only exception to this rule is when Harry is thinking about Lucius, in which case he will always be addressed as Lucius, whether he is in disguise or not. Got that? Clear as mud, innit? Oh, and ten Brownie points for anyone who spots where I break my own rules! LOL.


	8. Battle Commences

  
Author's notes: Harry tries a different tack... _two_ different tacks!  


* * *

**Author’s Notes** For the sake of clarity, may I just repeat that from now on when Lucius is referred to as Valentin it means he is in disguise. The only exception to this rule is when Harry is _thinking_ about Lucius…in which case he will always be referred to _as_ Lucius

 

 

****

Battle Commences

The next time they met, Harry took the battle to Lucius. When the knock sounded at the door to his room, he remained seated in his armchair by the fire and merely called, “Enter”.

Lucius came in to the room, changing from the dark-haired Valentin as he did so, and his eye immediately fell on Harry; he frowned.

“Do sit down, Lucius. I have a very creditable white wine I think you might like.”

“I thought I’d made it clear that I didn’t want this business dressed up, Potter?” Lucius snarled.

“The thing is, Lucius,” Harry said calmly, “this isn’t about what _you_ want; it’s about what _I_ want. And I want you to sit down and have a glass of wine with me.”

Lucius eyed Harry for a moment, then his expression changed. He smiled. “Of course, Mister Potter, if you insist. Perhaps you are right—a glass of wine would be pleasant.” He seated himself in the chair he usually used when he had been teaching Harry about Wild magic, and took the glass that Harry offered him. He sipped delicately. “Indeed, very agreeable.” Then he placed the glass on the table to his side and regarded Harry steadily.

Harry felt uncomfortably like a beetle under a magnifying glass. Earlier he had mentally listed several topics of conversation, but now they all fled his mind, leaving an empty void of echoing silence. “Erm….”

“Conversation isn’t your strong point, is it, Mister Potter?” Lucius casually remarked, crossing his legs elegantly. He raised his eyebrows in Harry’s direction, as if to enquire what other noises Harry could come up with.

“How did you end up here?” Harry managed to blurt.

Lucius face clouded over. “I didn’t realise we were here to play twenty questions, Potter.”

“I’ve only asked one,” Harry pointed out.

“In my experience,” Lucius retorted, “One question very often leads to nineteen more.”

“Really? Did you count them?”

Lucius frowned. “What?”

“Did you count them…you must have done, to know that there were nineteen of them. Are there always nineteen, or does the number vary? Could there sometimes be only eighteen, or else twenty?” Harry knew he was being silly.

“Don’t be silly,” Lucius snapped. “I did not mean you to take the number literally—I merely meant that one question often leads to others.”

“Well, try answering the first one and we’ll see how we get on.” Harry grinned, his green eyes alive with humour.

Lucius took another small sip of his wine. “All right, if you insist.”

“Oh, I do.”

“We-ll, I was sitting in a café in Bucharest. All I had was a small case of clothes and a handful of Galleons in my pocket. The people at the table next to mine left, leaving behind their newspaper. I saved the waiter the trouble of throwing it away….”

“You pinched it, you mean.”

“I most certainly did not steal it…it had been abandoned.” He paused.

“Go on,” Harry demanded.

“Well, I was glancing through it….”

“Checking to see if there was any mention of your escape.”

Lucius looked pained. “ _Must_ you keep interrupting?”

“Sorry. So you were looking through the paper.”

“And I happened upon the ‘jobs’ page. There I noticed an advertisement for the position of Offence teacher here at Durmstrang.”

“So you…” Harry began, before he was quelled by a look from Lucius.

“I called in a favour.”

“Vlad,” Harry said with certainty. “Alex said you two had been friends from before you came here. What was he, another of your Death Eater buddies?”

Lucius looked faintly shocked. “He was not! He is an old family acquaintance.”

“And so he gave you the job?”

“Who’s telling this story, Potter?”

“Sorry,” Harry said humbly.

“So he gave me the job. But I hasten to add that I would not have applied for it had I not thought I was qualified for the position.” 

“I should say you were.” 

“And just what’s that supposed to mean?” Lucius demanded.

“Only that you spent a lot of time attacking people when you were working for Voldemort.” Harry watched Lucius cringe slightly at the mention of the dark wizard’s name.

“Actually, Potter, my talents lay in other directions. I was rarely called upon to get my hands dirty, as it were. Although why I should be telling you any of this is beyond me.”

“Because I asked,” Harry said simply.

“And do you always expect to get what you ask for? Oh, pardon me; of course, we’ve discussed this before.”

Harry glared at Lucius across the hearthrug. Lucius looked blandly back at him.

“And anyway, that’s a lie.”

“What’s a lie?”

“That bit about you not getting your hands dirty.”

“And just what makes you say that?”

“In…in the graveyard, when Voldemort came back to life, he said something to you about you always being ready to torture Muggles.”

“Did he?” Lucius asked, suddenly becoming interested in a spot of imaginary dirt on his trouser leg. “I can’t say I remember.”

“I remember,” Harry said harshly. “I’d have a job not to—bearing in mind I had nightmares about it for months afterwards.” He finished the last swallow of wine in his glass, then stood up and looked meaningfully at the older wizard.

“I haven’t finished my wine yet,” Lucius pointed out.

“Well, get a move on.”

“Surely you wouldn’t want me to rush such a delectable little number.” Lucius picked up his glass and took a very small sip, then replaced it on the table. He smirked up at Harry. “Good wine should never be gulped, don’t you agree?”

Harry gritted his teeth, then, quick as a flash, he picked up Lucius’ wine glass and drained the contents in one swig.

“How very uncouth,” Lucius remarked. 

“Shut up, and get your clothes off.”

“Oh dear,” Lucius sighed, getting to his feet. “I wondered how long it would be before the veneer of civility began to crack and you started demanding what it is you really want from me.”

Harry started to shed his clothes, watching from the corner of his eye as Lucius began to do the same…only far more slowly. The older wizard took care to neatly fold each item of his clothing and place it on a nearby chair. Finally they were both naked. Harry hurried to his side of the bed whilst Lucius proceeded to his own slightly more slowly.

“Hands and knees,” Lucius instructed once they were both on the bed.

“No…you lie on your back,” Harry countered.

“I beg your pardon?”

“I want you on your back,” Harry repeated.

“Why?”

“Because...because I want to...to _touch_ you.”

Lucius regarded him stonily. “I suppose there is little use in me arguing?”

“None,” Harry said firmly, not bothering to add ‘unless you’d prefer a one-way ticket to Azkaban’.

Will ill grace Lucius flopped onto his back and did his impression of a marble statue. Harry licked his lips. He had determined that this time he would explore Lucius’ body—taste and touch the warm skin—and his fingers itched. Somehow, at this moment in time, the thought of running his hands over Lucius’ flesh was far more enticing than the thought of Lucius doing the same to him. Slowly he reached out and….

“Get on with it, if you must,” Lucius snapped.

Harry jumped. “Merlin! Just shut up, will you?”

Lucius grinned mirthlessly. “Oh, frightfully sorry…not ruining the ambience, am I?”

Harry refrained from comment; instead he dropped his hand onto Lucius’ chest, almost letting out a moan at the feel of the smooth, warm, tactile flesh beneath his palm. He ran his hand down, over the older wizard’s ribs and across the flat stomach. His eye fell on Lucius’ cock that, despite its owner’s dislike of the situation, had begun to stir from its lair. Harry couldn’t summon up the courage to touch it yet, although he very much wanted to see what it felt like; instead his hand traced back up to the far less intimidating area of Lucius’ nipples.

His fingertips lightly brushed over one pink nub, then delicately traced around the brown areole. The nipple hardened under his ministrations, and Harry was almost certain that Lucius had bitten back a quiet moan. He knew from playing with his own body that the nipples could be very sensitive, and his books had mentioned that much pleasure could be given by using tongue and mouth on those parts. He licked his lips again, swallowing to try and wet his mouth that had gone suddenly dry.

Dare he? Dare he drop his mouth onto that enticing rosy bud and…? He did so, feeling Lucius jump as his mouth enclosed the older wizard’s nipple. Harry gave a tentative, gentle suck…and this time he _knew_ that Lucius had bitten back a moan. Trying to imagine what he would like done to himself, Harry set about pleasuring Lucius’ nipples, first one and then the other, growing more confident in his actions. His hand began to smooth over Lucius’ stomach, almost unconsciously drawing nearer and nearer to Lucius’ now fully aroused prick. Finally his fingertips brushed against the hard length…and then his attention switched from nipples to cock. 

He rearranged himself on the bed so that his face was level with Lucius’ groin, watching as his fingers, almost with a life of their own, began to brush up and down that column of flesh. Lucius stirred slightly beneath Harry’s rapt gaze, but the older wizard didn’t speak. It was almost as if an expectant hush had fallen on the room. The only sounds were the faint noise of breathing, and the soft crackle of burning logs in the fireplace.

Harry’s fingers closed around Lucius’ shaft, eliciting a sharp hiss from the man lying supine on the bed. He carefully began to stroke, tightening his grip and running his hand from the root to the sensitive tip. His mouth dropped lower and lower as his breath quickened, until finally he couldn’t resist any longer…his mouth plunged the final few inches and closed around the head of Lucius’ cock. 

Taste sensations burst onto Harry’s tongue: a stronger taste of flesh than the nipples had afforded, underlined by a sharper, slightly bitter taste when he swirled his tongue around the velvet smooth glans. Lucius’ hips jerked, causing his cock to push into Harry’s mouth—and Harry’s teeth inadvertently scraped over the length.

“Be careful!” Lucius hissed through gritted teeth.

Harry carefully soothed the hurt with his tongue. He couldn’t believe how much he loved this: how right Lucius’ cock felt in his mouth; how the scent of the man beneath him made him want to bury his face in the pubic curls and breathe deep; how the taste of Lucius was better than anything he could ever remember having tasted before.

With one hand still gripping the base of Lucius’ cock, Harry’s mouth bobbed lower and lower, taking more and more of the older wizard’s length into his mouth, until the next bob went so deep that the tip of Lucius cock touched the back of his throat. Harry gagged, quickly removing the cock from his mouth.

“I’m sorry,” he spluttered.

“Your ‘gag reflex’,” Lucius supplied, as if he were lecturing a class of students. “Something you can overcome with practice.” For all his voice sounded calm and even, Harry had noticed that Lucius’ chest was rising and falling more quickly, and the muscles of the man’s thigh twitched and tensed beneath his splayed hand. He wondered if he could make Lucius come with his mouth—then bent his head to find out.

Although Harry was nearly certain that Lucius was trying to hold himself back, it wasn’t long before he felt the Offence teacher’s body tense. The hand gripping the base of Lucius’ cock had started to stray to the soft pouch that contained the man’s balls. Harry gently caressed and squeezed them in time to his sucking mouth, and now he felt them tighten and draw up, an obvious indication that Lucius was about to come. For a brief moment he wondered if he really wanted the older wizard to come in his mouth—then realised that he did, very much. He wanted to taste the man’s essence, wanted to feel the evidence that he had managed to please Lucius, spurting over his tongue.

He got his wish. Lucius came with a strangled cry of “no”, his cock pumping deep into Harry’s hot mouth.

Harry’s incredible feeling of euphoria at being the instrument of Lucius’ release, dissipated immediately. He moved up the bed to look down at Lucius. “What? What is it? Did I do something wrong? I’m sorry….” He trailed off. 

Lucius’ eyes were tightly shut, his lips pressed firmly together, and suddenly, with a rare flash of intuition, Harry realised what it was that had upset the older wizard: he had allowed himself to be pleasured, had produced evidence of that pleasure so that he couldn’t deny it. For a brief time he had perhaps forgotten that he was here against his will, caught up in the sensations that Harry had caused, and then rushed to climax by his traitorous body. Somehow the fact that he had lain, quiescent and submissive, instead of being in command, had been so much worse than taking charge and being in control of a situation he wasn’t happy to be in. As if, the first time they had met, he had been forced to play the game but had been allowed to make up the rules… This time he had been forced to play by Harry’s rules and now, after losing his grip on his rigid self-control, he was angry and upset with himself. 

And with Harry—because Lucius suddenly scrambled out of the bed and, without even casting a cleaning charm at himself, began dragging on his clothes.

“Lucius?” Harry began tentatively.

“I believe your hour is up.”

“Look, please….” But it was no use. In the state of mind Lucius was obviously in, it was no use trying to talk to the man. Harry watched sadly as Lucius shimmered back into Valentin and left the room, slamming the door behind him.

 

****

****

Harry nibbled the end of his quill pen, lost in thought. It was a warm afternoon and the sunshine streaked through his classroom windows, dancing on the motes of dust that drifted in the still air. His pupils, who had been set the task—with the help of their text books—of finding the counter to a particularly cunning hex, seemed equally distracted; there was an important Quidditch match that evening. At Durmstrang, owing to the number of days that flying was impossible during the winter months, they did not start their Quidditch season until the beginning of the Spring term, and extended it throughout the Summer term.

It had been nearly a week since Lucius had come to Harry’s room. A week during which Harry had wracked his brains, trying to think up a solution to his problem—a problem of his own making, the Gryffindor part of his brain said sanctimoniously. Lucius had taken charge during his first visit to Harry, and left the young wizard reeling with a feeling that he had been treated like a Knockturn Alley whore—without even the slight recompense of being paid for the privilege; the second of the older wizard’s visits had been equally unsatisfactory for entirely different reasons. Harry had taken charge, and Lucius had left at the end of the hour, furious with himself for lying back, submitting and evincing his enjoyment of Harry’s ministrations.

Harry nibbled some more. What he needed was to get the right balance. On the one hand he didn’t want their meetings to become a case of ‘wham, bam, thank you Lucius’, a dispassionate coupling once a week, because, as much as he had enjoyed being fucked, Harry wanted more. He wanted his and Lucius’ relationship to be more than that, and although there was that part of him that told him he was going about it all the wrong way, it was the only way he had, and he was determined to make it work.

But if he pushed Lucius, made the man do everything he wanted, then he would never achieve his goal, for Lucius would only ever regard what they did as something abhorrent he had to submit to in order to keep himself out of Azkaban. 

 

****

****

Harry followed Valentin from the dining hall later that evening. The meal had been held back because the Quidditch match between the two top teams, The Ravens and The Wolves, had been a prolonged affair, finally ending in a gripping race for the Snitch with only ten points separating the two sides. Harry had been cheering from the teachers’ viewing area, exhilarated by the excellent game.

“Lu…sorry, Valentin?”

Valentin glanced around to make sure they were alone. “Be careful, you fool,” he hissed. Then he added, “I suppose you wish to inform me that my presence is required in your rooms this evening?”

Harry nodded. “It’s been a week.”

“I am well aware of the passage of time, Potter.”

“So, I’ll see you at ten o’clock, then?”

Valentin nodded curtly and then strode away. Harry watched his retreating figure for a few seconds, before following more slowly.

 

****

****

Harry answered the door when, dead on the appointed hour, Valentin knocked. He let the older wizard into the room, where Valentin then stood, glaring at Harry. Finally he said, “Well? Shall we get on with it, or do you wish to go through the pretence of civility first?”

“You can do what you like,” Harry replied.

“I beg your pardon?”

“Do what you want,” Harry repeated. “I only ask that whatever you decide to do, you do here in my rooms. You can even stay as Valentin, if you prefer.” He stood and watched the emotions flicker on the older wizard’s face. There was confusion, anger, speculation and, finally, resignation. Then, with one eye on Harry, Lucius shimmered from the dark-haired Valentin to himself, moved to sit in ‘his’ chair, and then, once seated, he reached for the book on Wild magic that he had left for Harry at their first lesson. With one more glance in Harry’s direction, Lucius opened up the tome and settled down to read.

Harry stood, indecisive for a moment, then he too seated himself and reached for a book.

The room fell silent, the only noises the faint ticking of the clock on the mantelpiece, the shuff of falling logs as they crumbled and burnt, and the soft noise as either Lucius or Harry turned over a page.

After fifteen minutes Harry asked, “Would you like a drink?”

Lucius glanced up from his book, and in a similar emotionless, polite tone of voice said, “Thank you, a gin and tonic would be nice.”

Before he could summon the little house-elf, Festus popped into the room bearing a tray with a cut glass tumbler full of clear liquid, which he placed on the table by Lucius’ elbow, and a frosted glass of white wine for Harry, then he bowed and popped out, leaving Harry faintly alarmed about just how much Festus was aware of what went on in his room; the thought of the elf peering at him from a secret viewing point made him blush when he remembered some of the things he had done, alone in his bed, when thoughts of Lucius had filled his mind.

Lucius relaxed in his chair, one leg stretched out to rest a booted foot on the fender. The angle of his legs formed a tantalising ‘V’ which led Harry’s eye directly to the older wizard’s crotch. He had to fight to prevent himself from crawling across the hearthrug, and between Lucius’ spread thighs, to press his face against that bulge that whispered of what lay beneath the fine woollen fabric. It was hard to know that he could have what he craved—if he only said the word; he could be on his hands and knees on the bed with Lucius driving that long length…. Harry swallowed hard and dragged his gaze away—only to look up and find that Lucius’ eyes were fixed on him, an unfathomable expression on his face.

Blushing furiously, Harry hurriedly put his book down. “Excuse me,” he muttered and dashed for the bathroom—where he cooled his flaming face with icy water, wondering whether the same cold water would work on other parts of his body that seemed to want to command more than their fair share of blood.

When he returned to the other room, Lucius was once more engrossed in his book. Harry listlessly picked up his own book—but he was not by nature a great reader, and after a few minutes, during which he read two words, he tossed the book back onto the little table. Lucius gave no indication that he was paying Harry any attention and merely continued to read.

Harry began to fidget. The silence in the room became heavy, and still the older wizard paid him not one jot of notice.

“Lucius?”

Lucius didn’t raise his eyes from the page. “Yes?”

“Can I ask you a question? Just one?”

Lucius sighed and put down his book. “What is it with you and questions, Potter? Don’t you know what curiosity did to the cat?”

Harry grinned, “Yes, but they do say that satisfaction brought it back!”

Lucius stared at him. “I have not heard that counter before…I presume it is a Muggle response.”

“Well? Can I?”

“Can you what?”

“Ask you a question.”

“You can.”

“Why did you….”

“I didn’t say you _may_.”

Harry looked confused. “What?”

“Yes, Potter, you _can_ ask me a question, but I didn’t say that you _may_.”

Harry’s grasp of grammar was not that great, but he finally understood what Lucius was driving at. “ _May_ I ask you a question?”

“You may. Not that I have a great deal of choice in the matter.”

“You have. I said you could do what you want. If you don’t want me to ask you a question, I won’t.” Harry looked earnestly at Lucius.

“Just ask the question, Potter.” Lucius said wearily.

“Why did you become a Death Eater? I mean, you’re obviously an intelligent person. What could possible have possessed you to join up with such an evil monster?”

“That’s two questions.” Lucius pointed out. “Which one do you want answered?”

“The first,” Harry said promptly.

Lucius’ grey eyes bored into Harry. Then he took a deep breath and let it out slowly.

“I should imagine you have received a very one-sided view of what the Dark Lord and his followers stood for?” Without waiting for an answer Lucius went on. “In the beginning, when I first joined, the Dark Lord stood for a better way of life: for a return to traditional values; for a return to a secret world, free of Muggles and Muggle-born witches and wizards.”

“But why? Why was it so important to reject a witch or wizard who was born to Muggle parents? Surely....” Harry stopped abruptly. 

Lucius’ face was a stony mask. “Now, Potter, _now_ do you see what I mean about questions? You could not let me speak for even two minutes without interruption.”

“I’m sorry,” Harry said contritely. “Please, go on.”

Lucius regarded him steadily for a moment, and then began again. “As I was saying, before being rudely interrupted, the Dark Lord stood for what we of pure-blood regarded as a better way of life. Too many witches and wizards were polluting their blood by marriage to half-bloods, or worse, marrying Muggles. The incidence rate of Squibs and non-magical offspring was increasing due to the dilution of pure Wizarding blood, and something had to be done. It was time to take back control of our world from the Muggle-lovers and the wishy-washy do-gooders.” 

Lucius’ voice had gone hard and his eyes were like pewter. “I joined the Dark Lord’s supporters because I believed in what he was trying to do.”

Harry couldn’t help himself. “But why did you have to torture and murder people to get what you wanted?”

Lucius glared at Harry. “Another question? However, this one I will answer. Have you any idea how many witches and wizards were tortured and burned alive by Muggles? Hundreds—many hundreds.”

“But I thought that most of the time the witch or wizard got away...they pretended to be burnt and then when everyone had gone away, they escaped.”

“Propaganda,” Lucius said succinctly. “You have been a victim of the lies spread by those who would have you believe that we have nothing to fear from Muggles and that we should all co-exist in some sort of Utopia. Fools!”

“But surely magical folk are stronger than Muggles—we can cast spells, after all?”

“And how would you go about casting a spell, Mister Potter, if your wand had been snapped, your tongue cut out and you were bound by ropes?” Lucius answered his own question. “Of course, _you_ would be fine, being a master of both wordless and wandless magic, but the majority of witches and wizards do not have your talents.”

“But what good does it do? Torturing Muggles as some sort of revenge for something that happened years ago?”

Lucius sighed and some of the anger went from his face. “Actually, Potter, I have to agree with you. At the time it seemed like just retribution; now...now it seems like so much senseless violence.”

Harry was so taken aback by Lucius’ admission that he stared wordlessly at the older wizard, opening and closing his mouth like a fish out of water. Finally he found his voice. “Then why? Why did you stay with him?”

“I still believed in what he was trying to do. However I was becoming increasingly concerned about the way in which he was going about it. Simply leaving was not an option, Potter. Once in, always in; the arm of the Dark Lord was long, and reprisals swift for those who displeased or deserted.” He shut his mouth with a snap, and a flash of anguish appeared momentarily on his face.

Harry suddenly remembered that the man before him had lost both his wife and his son to the very man he had supported for so long. “I...I’m sorry, about your wife, and Draco.”

Lucius had regained his composure. “Why ever should you be? You never knew my wife, you detested my son as much as he detested you, and they were both supporters of the man who killed your parents and stood for everything you were brought up to fear and loath.”

“Still,” Harry said awkwardly, unable to disagree with Lucius.

They sat in silence for several minutes until the soft chime of the clock on the mantelpiece recalled them to the time. Lucius got to his feet. “Good night, Mister Potter.” He shimmered back into Valentin and a second later he had gone.

 

****

****

All in all Harry was pleased with the way things had gone between he and Lucius. All right, things hadn’t warmed between them quite as much as he’d hoped, but he realised that he would have to take things slowly and not expect miracles. The trouble was, that the summer holidays were not far off and Harry knew that he would have to return to Britain.

The subject came up one breakfast. 

“So, Harry, are you going home for the holidays?” Marta enquired.

Harry nodded, his mouth full of the local spicy sausage that he had become rather fond off. “Hmm, mm.” He cleared his mouth. “Yes, I’m off home for a couple of weeks. I’ve got a friend looking after my house, so I’m going to check up on everything.” He shot a quick look in Valentin’s direction, but the man was absorbed by his newspaper.

“What about you, Valentin?” Alex asked suddenly. “Any plans?”

Valentin raised his head. “Oh, yes, indeed. The house-elves and I have a sojourn planned by the sea. I have already packed my bucket and spade and my shrimping net.”

This joke elicited some laughter, but Alex persisted. “Oh, come on, Valentin, you can tell us…surely you’re planning on spending the holidays with young Harry here?”

A hush fell on the assembled teachers, and Valentin, who had returned to his newspaper, looked up again, his eyes like chips of flint. “What a ludicrous suggestion; what on earth should make you think such a thing?”

Every eye swivelled in Alex’ direction. The Ancient Runes teacher looked smug. “Oh, nothing,” he began airily, “only I saw you leaving Harry’s room rather late the other night. Indulging in some _extracurricular activities_ , eh?” He grinned and shot a wink in Harry’s direction.

All this had been said in an undertone, the teachers’ conscious of the proximity of the children. 

With a quick glance at the nearby pupils, Valentin turned a furious eye on Alex. “Not that it is any of your bloody business, Johnson,” he hissed, “and not that it is anything that should be discussed where your foolish innuendos might be overheard, but I can assure you I most certainly will _not_ be spending any of the holidays with Mister Potter, and I’ll thank you to keep your preposterous notions to yourself.”

Alex raised his hands in surrender. “Okay, okay, I’m sorry, I was only teasing.”

Valentin shot him one last evil glare and then hid himself behind his newspaper again.

Harry breathed a sigh of relief. For a moment there he had thought that things might just get ugly. But what had been said had given him pause for thought. Whatever plans Lucius might have had for the summer holidays, he would probably now have to change them because of the restrictions Harry had placed on the man’s movements by forcing the older wizard to wear the Portkey ring. But if he allowed Lucius to remove it, the chances that the man might still be here in September were slim to not an ice-cube’s in hell…and Harry was not prepared to let his prize escape just yet.

 

****

****

He collared the Offence teacher later that day, after lessons had finished and the pupils had run, shouting and yelling, out into the summer sun.

He approached Valentin in the man’s classroom, feeling, as he always did, like a student on his way to detention. “Erm, L...Valentin?”

Valentin glanced up from some papers he was looking through. “What?” he asked, in a discouraging tone of voice.

“About what Alex said this morning….”

“No,” Valentin interrupted.

“No, what?” Harry asked, confused.

“No, I will not accompany you to Britain.”

“I wasn’t going to ask you to.”

Valentin looked momentarily taken aback, then he collected himself. “Good, well, I wouldn’t have come even if you had.”

Harry hitched himself up to perch on Valentin’s desk, ignoring the pointed look of disapproval that was shot in his direction. “The thing is it made me think.”

“What a good job I happen to be sitting down,” Valentin remarked dryly.

Harry grinned. “Oh, ha ha. Anyway, I was wondering….”

Valentin shuffled the papers together on his desk. “You needn’t. I had no plans for the summer that might have necessitated removing myself more than five miles from the school. Actually,” he went on, “you have no idea how very peaceful it is here when all the children have departed…and one has no _obligations_.”

Harry grimaced; well he had let himself in for that one. “Are you sure?”

“Quite sure, Mister Potter. Now, if you will excuse me—we wouldn’t want to give your over imaginative friend more fuel for his fantasies.”

“Alex is okay,” Harry said defensively. “He’s been a good friend to me since I got here.”

“Then perhaps you can tell your ‘friend’ to keep his nose out of where it doesn’t belong?” Valentin snapped, gathering his papers up and getting to his feet.

Harry trailed after Valentin out of the classroom until the other man stopped suddenly.

“Have you nowhere you should be?” Valentin demanded.

Harry shook his head. “I’ve nowhere I’d rather be,” he replied, abruptly realising how very true that was. It occurred to him that he would rather spend time with Lucius being his normal aloof, rude, condescending self, than with any of his friends.

“That wasn’t what I asked,” Valentin retorted.

Harry decided to brave it. “I thought maybe we could hang out together for a while?”

“ _Hang out_ together,” Valentin repeated in a scathing tone. “What sort of language is that? But no, we cannot _hang out_ together, as you so charmingly put it. I consider that we spend _quite_ enough time together as it is. Now, run along and find someone else to play with.”

“Please?” Harry wheedled.

“No.”

“Pretty please?”

Valentin thrust his face so close to Harry’s that the young wizard was hard pushed not to close the last few inches and press a kiss to those well-shaped lips.

“Read my lips, Potter,” Valentin snarled, “Bugger...off.” Then with a swirl of his cloak that would have impressed Severus Snape, he turned on his heel and strode off down the corridor.

Harry beamed. He was definitely making progress with Lucius; a scant few weeks ago the older wizard would have blasted him into next week!

 

****

****

At the next of their evening meetings, Harry employed the same tactics as before, and as a consequence Lucius seated himself at Harry’s desk, drew forth from his cloak pocket a number of scrolls and a quill, and began to mark homework. Harry was left to amuse himself by reading, for the hundredth time, “Quidditch Through the Ages”.

A book he soon tired of. He tossed it onto the side table and tried to think of something else to do...unfortunately the first thought to come into his mind was how pleasant it would be for he and Lucius to get naked together on Harry’s bed. And the second thought was a wish that he had worn robes, instead of the pair of jeans he had opted for that evening. Because, however comfy the jeans were, they weren’t a patch on robes for covering up sudden erections. 

He shifted fitfully in his chair and allowed his eyes to travel around the room. Before long they fell on Lucius, and Harry took the opportunity to observe the older wizard whilst he was preoccupied with his marking.

Perhaps Lucius enjoyed the chance to be himself, because now he always switched from Valentin as soon as he entered Harry’s room. The long, ash blonde hair that Harry had once thought so girlish, hung sleek as silk over one of Lucius’ shoulders, an open invitation for one to run their fingers through it. The pale, fine boned face was concentrated, the lips slightly parted, as the older wizard applied himself to the task of correcting his students’ work.

Harry sighed heavily. 

Lucius glanced up from his task. “Can you think of nothing to occupy yourself, Potter?”

“Well, I can think of several things…but they all involve you taking your clothes off,” Harry countered.

Lucius glared at him then bent his head over his marking once more. 

The scritch, scritch of the quill pen sounded loud in the quiet room, and the ticking of the clock on the mantelpiece began to prey on Harry’s mind; each tick meant another second less of the hour.

“Lucius?”

“Hmm?” Lucius didn’t raise his head.

“Will you teach me some more about Wild magic? Please?”

Now Lucius did look up. “Whatever for? Your pretended interest in the subject has served its purpose, surely?”

“I’ve already explained that although my interest may have started out that way, now I _truly_ want to know more.” Harry schooled his features into the most sincere expression he could.

Lucius regarded him steadily, a faint frown of suspicion on his face. Then he glanced at his watch. “I have several more essays to mark: then for fifteen minutes perhaps…I’ll see.” He bent his head once more and Harry had to be satisfied with the half promise.

Finally Lucius rolled up the last essay and, with a quick spell, cleaned the ink off his quill, and slipped it into a pocket. He rose to his feet and joined Harry by the fire.

“Where were we?” he asked, obviously in a sneaky attempt to ascertain if Harry really had been paying attention to his lessons.

“Erm.” Harry wracked his brains, desperately trying to remember the subject of their last lesson. It came to him, “Edusa…you were about to tell me about wendfire and the Eve of Edusa.”

“Ah.” Lucius settled himself more comfortably in his chair. “The Wild Hunt,” he continued with relish. “The Riders from the mounds. Now, let me see….”

For the next fifteen minutes Harry listened, enraptured, as Lucius told him about the riders, and about their leader, the great horned man.

When the clock chimed, Lucius was still talking. He stopped abruptly, with a look on his face that Harry thought might almost have been regret that the hour was up.

“You, you can finish if you want…please.”

Lucius rose fluidly to his feet. “No, Mister Potter. An hour is all you bargained for, so an hour is all you get.” He shifted once more into Valentin and headed for the door before turning back. “I will continue the story next time, H…Mister Potter. Goodnight.”


	9. Summer

  
Author's notes: Harry reluctantly leaves Durmstrang for the Summer holidays. But how long will he last before he has to go scampering back to Lucius?  


* * *

****

Summer

Harry gave one last glance around his room, to check that he hadn’t left behind anything that he needed, then, with a sigh, he hoisted his rucksack on his back and set off to the Floo connection in the dining hall. He couldn’t believe how reluctant he was to go home. The thought of at least three whole weeks without Lucius’ acerbic wit slowed his feet and weighed on his heart.

He was travelling easily this time. No freezing cold journeys in rickety coaches…just a quick Floo trip to the International Floo connection in Bucharest, then on to London, and finally to Godric’s Hollow. The only thing that consoled Harry was that it was an equally quick trip back…a trip he was intent on making as soon as he could reasonably escape from his friends without causing too much question or upset.

His next three meetings with Lucius had pretty much followed the same pattern as the last; Lucius would bring some marking, or some other thing to do that would occupy him for thirty to forty minutes, then he would join Harry by the fire, accept a glass of wine, and continue with his discourse on Wild magic. Each visit had seen a slight thawing in Lucius’ manner towards Harry, and the young wizard had started to seriously believe that he and Lucius might one day soon reach that level of friendship he had shared with Valentin, before the man had discovered Harry’s deception.

Which made it all the more galling that he had to go home. There was a horrible suspicion in the back of Harry’s mind that, by the time he returned, Lucius would have reverted to his previous frigid, resentful self, and all the progress that Harry felt had been made would have been wasted.

He had toyed briefly with the idea of bravely knocking on the door to Lucius’ rooms to wish him “goodbye”, but his nerve failed him at the last minute—he was therefore gratified to see the Offence teacher seated at one of the tables in the dining hall. The children had departed for home two days before, and the teachers had quickly reclaimed the tables by the great fireplace. Valentin was finishing a leisurely breakfast, his newspaper propped up on a pot of coffee.

Harry glanced around to check they were alone, then crept across the hall and leant over the back of Valentin’s chair. “Ah, it’s sweet of you to come and see me off,” he whispered.

Valentin didn’t move a muscle…he merely turned over another page of his paper. “Don’t delude yourself, Potter. I may have come to see you off, but not from any motives of sentimentality. I merely want to make sure that you have _really_ gone, before I let off the fireworks and start the dance of celebration. You’re not thinking of returning _too_ soon, are you?” 

“Why, scared you might miss me?”

Valentin snorted. “Hardly!”

Harry eased onto the chair next to the Offence teacher. “Ah, go on,” he continued in an undertone. “I bet you’ll miss me a bit?” His joking tone disguised the fact that Harry hoped desperately that the older wizard might feel his absence, if only a little.

Valentin turned in his chair to face Harry. “Do you really consider that that might be a possibility, Potter? If so, you are delusional.”

Harry gazed into Valentin’s grey eyes, so much darker than Lucius’. “Kiss me?” he whispered.

“No,” Valentin whispered back.

“Kiss me, and I’ll go.”

“Potter, I’d rather kiss a troll’s backside. Now, bugger off, and don’t come back soon!”

“I’m not going until you kiss me.” Harry persisted.

Valentin tutted and sighed melodramatically. “Ye gods, the lengths to which I’ll go…” He began to lean forward….

“Ah, Harry, I vas hoping to catch you before you left.”

Valentin shot back in his seat, and Harry turned with a thunderous expression on his face—within an ace of pulling out his wand and hexing Krum into oblivion. He was sure that Valentin had been about to kiss him—had his eyes closed all ready for it, in fact—and then Viktor bloody Krum had to come barging in.

The Quidditch Instructor strode across the dining hall, clutching a small suitcase in his hand. “I am coming vith you…to Britain!”

Harry looked startled. “With me? But…”

“How nice for you, Mister Potter, a little friend for you to travel with!” Valentin remarked as he folded up his newspaper and got to his feet. “Well, I wish you both a happy holiday. Don’t let me detain you.”

Harry had no alternative but to cast a brief, beseeching look at the older wizard, before joining Krum who was waiting for him by the fireplace. His last clear picture of Durmstrang contained Valentin, a smirk on his face, waving.

 

****

****

Harry tumbled out of the fireplace in Godric’s Hollow…straight into a wild party.

He and Krum had been delayed at Bucharest, and had not been able to connect to Britain until late in the evening. He had bid farewell to Krum at Euston Central Floo connection, with a promise that he would get down to see Viktor in a week’s time. By the time Harry made it home he was tired, bad tempered and already missing Lucius so badly it felt like a physical pain in his chest. 

He had been used to seeing the Offence teacher every day: to sharing lessons with the man; sitting across the table from him at meals—and the few scant hours they had been apart had brought it home to Harry just how big a hole in his life Lucius’ absence was going to make.

A full scale party was the last thing he needed.

Once Ron had realised that Harry fully intended to go through with his intention to go to Durmstrang, he had been quick to offer to look after Godric’s Hollow. Harry had agreed, glad that he could do something for his friend. Although Ron was now flying for a professional Quidditch team, the money was not great and he was still living at The Burrow with his parents. Harry had been happy to be the instrument by which Ron could have his own place, albeit borrowed, for a while. 

Now he deeply regretted his decision. The small front room was jam-packed full of people, there was loud music blaring from somewhere, and the moment he managed to orientate himself, someone shoved a bottle of beer into his hand. Harry gazed around in horror, trying desperately to locate Ron. 

Finally he attracted the attention of the closest person. “Where’s Ron?” he yelled above the noise.

The man frowned. “Who?”

“Ron…Weasley.”

The man still looked confused and poked the person next to him. “Some guy here looking for someone called Weasel.”

“Weasley,” Harry bellowed.

Someone tapped him on the shoulder. A dark-haired witch, whom Harry vaguely recognised, was standing next to him. “Hi, Harry,” she yelled. “Ron’s in the kitchen.”

Harry mouthed, “Thanks,” and set off to shoulder his way through the crowd.

Ron was indeed in the kitchen, surrounded by what looked like a group of adoring fans. “Of course,” he was saying, “they wanted me as Seeker, but I said, ‘No, give Harry a chance’.” The gaggle of girls sighed and looked up at Ron with expressions of adoration. 

Harry managed to get to Ron’s side. “Really, Ron? Is that so?”

If Harry hadn’t been so tired and angry, he would have laughed out loud at the expression of horror that transformed Ron’s face. The redhead gave a great impression of a fish out of water for a few seconds, before he managed to collect his scattered wits.

“Harry! What are you doing here?”

Harry looked pointedly at his friend. “It’s my house, remember?”

A diminutive witch suddenly squawked, “Don’t be silly! Tell him, Ronnie, it’s _your_ house.”

Ron went as red as his hair. “Erm,” he managed.

“I want my house back NOW, Ron,” Harry flared, his anger getting the better of him. “Clear these bloody people out so I can get to bed. I’m worn out.”

“Oh, oh, right.” Ron looked uncomfortable.

“Is there some problem?” Harry demanded.

“Ah, erm, well, you see it’s Fi’s birthday, and I offered to host her party for her.”

Harry stood and fumed, his teeth gritted against the stream of vitriol he was sure would spew out were he to unclench them. “Right,” he finally managed. “In that case I’m going up to my room. I will cast a Silencing Charm. And you… _you_ will make sure these people are gone before midnight. DO I MAKE MYSELF CLEAR?”

Ron nodded, mutely. Harry knew he would have to pay for his rudeness the following day, but right now he was too pissed off to care. He shouldered his rucksack and, fighting his way through the throng of people, made his way upstairs to his room…only to find when he got there, that there were two people in a very compromising position on his bed. It was the final straw. Harry went into full “Slayer of Voldemort” mode and fifteen minutes later the house was silent and empty.

 

****

****

By the time Harry woke the following morning, the sun was high in the sky. He lay in bed for a while, and listened carefully. There was no noise in the house that he could detect, and he could only assume that either Ron was also still in bed, or that he had gone out. Bearing in mind the scenes from the night before, Harry rather thought it would be the latter.

As soon as the house had emptied of guests, Ron had found his voice. One of the few people who would have dared fight with Harry, knowing the mood the Wizarding world’s Hero was in, he set off with a barrage of angry accusations and complaints. Harry listened for three minutes, then silenced Ron with a quietly spoken, but heavy with threat, “Enough!” Then Harry had gone to bed, after first changing the sheets on his bed.

He rolled over onto his back and stared at his bedroom ceiling. He knew he had been unreasonable, knew that Ron was fully justified in his attack on Harry…but at the time Harry had been too tired, and missing Lucius too much, to even make an attempt at being reasonable. He sighed. Well, he would just have to find Ron and apologise…if his friend would ever speak to him again—Harry cringed at the recollection of the looks on people’s faces the night before.

Scrambling out of bed, he dressed quickly and padded downstairs. There were empty bottles, streamers, banners, plates of half-eaten food, and more glassware than Harry ever remembered owning, scattered all over the four downstairs rooms. So, Ron had made no effort to tidy up then; Harry could hardly say he blamed him. Dragging his wand from his back pocket, he set about clearing the detritus until the place looked fit to be lived in again. Then he made himself a large mug of tea and, after discovering a loaf of bread in the bread bin, two thick slices of toast and Marmite. He had just seated himself at the kitchen table when an owl scratched at the window. He rose and let the bird in—it was bearing a copy of the _Prophet_. Shrugging, and assuming that Ron had organised a paper delivery, Harry paid the bird and sat back down.

He unfolded the paper, taking a large swig of his tea as he did so—and subsequently spat the mouthful all over the front page as his eye took in the headline of one of the side articles. “Party Pooper Potter”. He read with growing anger and indignation the report by one “R. Vane” about his abrupt arrival, and subsequent break up of last night’s party. The article finished by asking if this was all the thanks “poor Ron Weasley” could expect for being at Harry’s side throughout the war, for helping his friend through the loss of Hermione Granger, and being kind enough to offer to look after Harry’s house whilst the Wizarding world’s ‘hero’ was away?

Harry flung the paper across the kitchen. He was so incensed that it took all his resolve not to pack his bags and go straight back to Durmstrang…and Lucius. He finished his tea and toast without tasting either, and was just about to get to his feet when the sound of the front door being opened reached his ears.

It was a rather shamefaced Ron. At the sight of the newspaper on the floor, his face fell even further. “Look, mate,” he began, “about that…I had nothing to do with it, honest.”

Harry felt some of his anger seep away. “Its okay, Ron, I know you didn’t. And hey, I’m sorry about last night…I shouldn’t have gone off like that. It’s just that I’d had a lousy journey and I was tired…still, that’s no excuse, I shouldn’t have been so rude. Forgive me?”

Ron’s face creased into a smile as he sank onto the other chair at the kitchen table. “Ah, course I forgive you—I would never have agreed to the blasted party if I’d known you were coming home.”

Harry frowned. “But I’m sure I sent an owl. Didn’t I?”

Ron shook his head. “No, mate. I’ve not had so much as a dickybird from you since Easter.”

Harry knew he’d become rather involved with the whole ‘Lucius’ thing, but he couldn’t believe he hadn’t contacted his friend since April. “Ah, Ron, I’m sorry. I know I meant to let you know when I was coming back…I suppose it must have slipped my mind.”

“Not to worry…you’re back now. Erm, do you want me to clear out?”

“No, no, of course not. I’m only going to be home for a couple of weeks.”

Ron looked taken aback. “A couple of weeks? But I thought you got about six weeks off? Why do you have to go back so soon?”

“Erm, well, there are lessons to prepare…and stuff.”

Ron still looked sceptical. 

“Well, I suppose I could make it three weeks.” ‘ _Oh Merlin_ ,’ Harry’s inner voice cried, _‘three weeks without Lucius_.’

Ron’s face had brightened. “That’s better. You don’t want to go rushing back before you have to, mate. No point in looking too keen!”

Before either of them had time to say another word, the sound of the front door opening again reached the kitchen. 

“Harry? Harry?”

It was Remus Lupin. He came into the kitchen with a big smile on his face. “Harry, it’s so good to see you, welcome home.” He held out his arms, and Harry rose and embraced his old friend. Remus finally let him go and held Harry at arm’s length whilst he scrutinised him. “Hmm, well, I must say you don’t look too bad. So the food’s all right, then?”

 

****

****

The following Thursday saw Harry wandering along Diagon Alley. He had finally managed to grab some time for himself, after being paraded by Ron and Lupin around a seemingly endless stream of people who wanted to check that Harry had suffered no ill effects from being away from home on his own. Harry wasn’t certain, but he was almost sure he had noticed a look of slight disappointment on a number of people’s faces, that he hadn’t been reduced to skin and bone…and wasn’t desperate to come home for good. Indeed, the news that he was planning to return to Durmstrang before even half the holidays had passed, was viewed by some as akin to a personal insult; they couldn’t understand why Harry would prefer to spend his time in some remote foreign school, when he could be sharing good times with his friends.

Harry was not about to enlighten them. But as each day passed, he missed Lucius more and more until finally, early one morning, when he had lain awake half the night, he wrote a letter to the Offence teacher, carefully addressing it to ‘Valentin’. It was short, no more than an ‘arrived safely, missing you’ sort of letter, but it made him feel better as he watched the owl disappear into the distance with the note tied around its leg. Sometime soon, Lucius would get the letter and know that Harry was thinking of him. Harry had to smile then; he could well imagine what Lucius’ reaction might be. But there was a thought—one that he dared not dwell on too much, just in case he was tempting fate by doing so—that maybe Lucius hadn’t really been _that_ reluctant to kiss him goodbye.

Ron, with an unusual perception, asked Harry one day, “So, who is she, then?”

Harry, who had been stirring his bowl of porridge round and round, his mind on Lucius, stared at Ron owlishly. “What?”

“Who’s the girl?” Ron asked patiently. “It’s obvious you’re pining after someone. Is she one of teachers?” Then he laughed. “Just don’t tell me she’s one of the students!”

Harry shook his head. “Ah, no, one of the teachers.” He saw no harm in revealing this much information to Ron. If anything, it would make his early departure for Durmstrang easier for his friend to understand.

“So, what’s she like? Blonde, brunette, tall, short?” Ron demanded.

“Tall, blonde,” Harry supplied, “gorgeous,” his voice going dreamy as he thought of Lucius.

Ron grinned. “Oh, lucky boy! So why didn’t you bring her home?”

Harry had a sudden mental picture of Ron’s face, had he brought Lucius home and introduced him as his boyfriend. He stifled a giggle. “Er, she was busy…had to go and visit her own home and family.”

“Well, can’t she come and visit when she’s done that…I’d like to meet her. Or, hey, I know…I could come back to school with you. That way I could meet her and see where you work at the same time.”

Harry managed, with some difficulty, to keep the look of abject horror off his face. He settled for non-commitment, knowing that a flat refusal would spark Ron’s curiosity and make him more determined than ever to return to Durmstrang with Harry. “That’s a thought; I’ll think about it, okay?”

“I know Mum would be happier if she knew what the place was like…if I could tell her there were no dark subterranean passages with slimy dripping walls.” Ron laughed.

Harry joined in, wondering just how horrified Molly Weasley would be if she ever discovered that there were indeed some dark passages at Durmstrang that very accurately matched Ron’s description.

On the Thursday morning he had persuaded Ron that he was quite happy at being left to his own devices whilst Ron went off for a practice session, and as soon as his friend had gone, Harry made his way to Diagon Alley. There was no clear motivation for his decision to go, but once there he realised he was actually searching for a gift for Lucius. 

He had never really thought about how hard it must have been for the man: to be separated from everything he was familiar with, to be forced to flee, virtually penniless, to a place he had never been to before…at least Harry assumed Lucius had never visited Bucharest before. Lucius had been used to luxury, to the finest things that Galleons could buy. Now he had to exist on a teacher’s salary, which Harry was well aware was not much. Whilst he himself had no actual need of the money, it was all Lucius had to live on. 

Harry set off to find something that Lucius might appreciate—before pulling himself up short with a realisation of just how the older wizard might view Harry bringing him some expensive trifle back from his trip to Britain. The man might well see it as an attempt on Harry’s part to rub Lucius’ nose in the fact that he was no longer a wealthy, prominent wizard. 

Frowning, Harry trailed along the narrow street, glancing in shop windows, but not really seeing anything…until he reached Flourish and Blotts. And there he had a flash of inspiration; he would get Lucius a book—a book on Wild magic—and hope desperately that the man didn’t already have it.

He pushed open the door—hearing the bell tinkle as he made his way inside—and breathed in the smell of leather and books. It brought back such memories, this shop. This was where he had first come face to face with Lucius. Harry vividly recalled his younger self being scrutinised by the man: recalled the light grey eyes boring into his own; recalled his hand being seized by a powerful, leather-clad grip; recalled the silver snake-headed cane being used to move aside his fringe to reveal the scar that had marked him as Voldemort’s nemesis—and therefore Lucius’ enemy.

Harry heaved a sign, and focussed on the piles of precariously balanced books. An assistant spotted his obvious uncertainty, and came bustling over. “Ah, Mister Potter, isn’t it? Delighted, delighted to welcome you to Flourish and Blotts, my name is Sanford, and how may I assist you today?”

“Um, Wild magic?” Harry stuttered. “Have you anything on Wild magic…something rare? Something someone might not already have…if that someone was a bit of an expert,” he finished weakly.

The assistant rubbed his hands. “Well, it just so happens we might have the very thing you are looking for. Please, come this way.” 

Harry followed the man towards the rear of the shop, through several tight corridors of books, and into a dark little back room that seemed to be lined with small cupboards. Here Sanford paused. “Ah, I must beg your forgiveness for the, ah, subdued lighting, it’s just that some of the books we keep in here prefer the darkness.” 

Harry peered at the man in the gloom, trying to ascertain if he was pulling Harry’s leg. The expression on the man’s face led Harry to glance nervously around the little room, suddenly noticing that some the cupboard doors were… _shivering_. Indeed, just as he turned back to Sanford, there was a loud ‘bang’ to his left that made Harry jump round in shock. It appeared that _something_ —Harry was reluctant to use the word ‘book’—was trying to escape from its confinement. He returned his gaze to the shop assistant. Sanford was slipping on a pair of white cotton gloves, then he turned and began to unlock one of the cupboards with a key he had withdrawn from his waistcoat pocket. The man reached in and drew out a small, slim volume—handling it with such reverence that Harry began to wonder just how expensive such a book was going to be.

Sanford placed the book on the small table in the centre of the room with something akin to a flourish. When he spoke, the assistant’s voice was hushed. “This, this is a prize that any collector of books on the subject of the old ways would be _most_ keen to acquire.”

“If it’s so rare and so desirable, why haven’t you sold it yet?”

Sanford looked slightly aggrieved at Harry’s lack of awe. “Indeed, Mister Potter, I have to admit that the subject of Wild magic is one that interests a very few. This book was in fact ordered specially. Sadly, the client in question was not able to collect when the time came, and the book has remained in our care ever since.”

Harry’s heart began to pound. “Really, what was his name,” he asked as nonchalantly as he could.

The assistant looked rather embarrassed. “You’ll have to forgive me, Mister Potter, but it is not really our policy to divulge the names of our clients.”

Harry put on his most charming expression. “Ah, please…only if it’s the same person that I’m thinking of buying it for…then I’ll know I’ll be making a good choice, won’t I?”

Now Sanford looked shocked. “I most sincerely doubt you would be buying anything for _this_ person, Mister Potter. He was…” the man’s voice sank to a whisper, “…a Death Eater.”

Harry fought to keep the grin off his face. The man Sanford was talking about had to be Lucius. How many other Death Eaters could possibly be interested in Wild magic? He reached out and picked up the book.

It purred.

Harry dropped it quickly back onto the table, whereupon the book let out a whimper. Sanford remained silent, seeming to blend into the shadows of the room. Harry reached out and again picked up the book; this time it seemed to snuggle into his hand, letting out another of those disconcerting purrs.

“It likes you,” Sanford whispered from the darkness.

Harry hadn’t needed to be told that. He could _feel_ it, like a warmth travelling up his arm and through his body.

“How, how much?” he asked, finding that his voice had also sunk to a whisper.

“For you, Mister Potter, I’m sure we can come up with a special price.” Sanford moved to take the book back from Harry, but the book was having none of it. It seemed to huddle into Harry’s palm, and if Harry hadn’t have been convinced it was a ludicrous notion, he would have been sure that the book actually shrank in an attempt to hide behind his fingers.

“It’s okay; I’ll keep hold of it…if that’s alright.”

The assistant looked for a moment as if he might argue, then he shrugged and led the way back out of the room into the front of the shop.

Ten minutes later, and considerably lighter in his purse, Harry stepped back out into Diagon Alley, the book tucked into the breast pocket of his cloak, where it kept letting out the occasional purr. He was thrilled with his purchase…the only thing that was troubling him was that Lucius would be well aware of just how much he’d had to pay for the little book. 

This problem troubled him all the way back to Godric’s Hollow…where he was greeted by the sight of a beaming Lupin waiting for him on his doorstep.

“Harry, I have the best news. Let’s go in and have a cup of tea and I’ll tell you.”

Whilst Remus put the kettle on, Harry hurried up to his room and withdrew the small book from his pocket. It came as close as any oblong, leather-bound book possibly could to looking like a kitten. It looked up at him expectantly. Feeling slightly silly, Harry bent down to it and whispered, “I’m going to put you in a drawer now…” The book whimpered. Harry tried again. “Okay, how about I put you on this shelf here? There’s a nice view of the garden,” he added. The book made no comment, so Harry took the silence as acquiescence. He placed the little book carefully on the shelf. “I’ll be back soon, all right?” The book made a sort of half whimper, half purr which Harry took to mean that it wasn’t happy about him going away, but was prepared to accept it.

Harry went back downstairs to discover what news had brought Lupin hot-foot to his front door.

As soon as they had both sat down with their tea, Lupin said excitedly. “Great news, Harry. Professor Parsons has decided to leave Hogwarts, so you can have the DADA position without having to worry about putting anyone out of a job!” 

Harry looked pained. “But, Remus, I have a job…a job that I enjoy.”

“But Hogwarts is a much better school than Durmstrang.”

“Is it?”

Remus frowned. “Of course it is; you know that. Come on, Harry. Everyone knows you only went to Durmstrang because you wanted to prove you could do something on your own. Well, now you’ve proved it, so you can come home!”

Harry was angry now. “Yes, Remus, I did go to Durmstrang because I wanted to do something on my own…but do you know what? I really love my job. I love the school, I love the children and I,” he had to restrain himself from saying ‘I love Lucius’, instead he finished with, “and I’ve made some great friends on the staff.”

“But you love Hogwarts, and you’re bound to make equally good friends with the staff _there_.”

“Remus, half the staff at Hogwarts still remember giving me detention! Please, you must understand, I want to stay at Durmstrang…and I fully intend to do so.”

“But we miss you, Harry.” Lupin’s voice was plaintive. He had lost Tonks in the war, and since her death he had clung to those he loved with near ferocity, determined not to lose anyone else from his life.

“I know, Remus,” Harry said gently. 

They sat in silence for several minutes, each lost in their thoughts. Suddenly Harry said, “Why don’t _you_ apply for the job?”

Lupin looked faintly astonished. “Me?”

“Yes, you. You’ve done the job before. And there aren’t the restrictions there used to be about employing you now.”

The war had been hard on Remus Lupin. He had lost a huge amount of his confidence when he lost Tonks, withdrawing into a shell of misery and self-recrimination. No matter what anyone said, for a long time he had blamed himself for the sprightly Metamorphmagus’ death. She had been one of the few people who believed in him, who looked beyond his affliction, to see the caring man behind the wolf.

Now he stared at Harry in bewilderment. “But you should have the job,” he said finally.

“But I don’t want it, Remus. Please, for me, apply for the position…I bet you’ll get you. In fact, I bet they’ll be delighted to offer it to you, bearing in mind your teaching experience.”

“Well, perhaps…I’ll think about it.”

 

****

****

Molly Weasley mothered him. Despite obvious evidence to the contrary, she declared that Harry needed fattening up. She fussed and clucked over him, trying, it seemed, to fit several months’ worth of cosseting into a few scant days. It was jolly at The Burrow, and for a little while at least, Harry managed to put into the back of his mind the emptiness he felt at being apart from Lucius. Molly and Arthur had arranged a special meal for Harry, and everyone managed to be present.

Charlie was home on a brief visit from Romania, and declared that Harry had to visit him when he returned to Durmstrang. The school was not that far distant and he, Charlie, would be very pleased to see Harry whenever he chose to turn up. Harry wasn’t altogether sure, but he had a feeling that in a very subtle way, Charlie was coming on to him. He made vague promises to the second eldest Weasley, but pointed out gently that he was very busy during term time. 

Ginny made a special trip over from Ireland, where she was playing for the Dublin Dominators, and there were some good natured arguments about whose team was best, when Ron rolled up just in time for the start of the meal. Ginny had never really got over her love for Harry, but had been gracious in defeat when he had admitted to her that he thought he was gay.

George arrived, happier than Harry had seen him for a considerable time—the cause for the happiness was the girl he brought with him. Every bit as bubbly as George himself, and with a mischievous twinkle in her eye that made Harry think the two were very well suited, Brenda was an instant hit with everyone. It turned out she and George had met when she was shopping for gifts for her two young nephews—one thing had led to another and they had been dating now for four months; Harry was quite sure he heard the distinct sound of distant wedding bells.

Fleur and Bill dropped in with their two children—Raphael and Elspeth. Fleur was still as beautiful as ever—although her beauty had softened with motherhood—and Bill managed to be rakishly handsome despite the scars that disfigured his face.

Percy was conspicuous by his absence. He had never made his peace with his family, and now lived in a flat somewhere in London. Harry believed Molly sent Percy a birthday card and a Christmas card every year, but never received one in return.

It was lovely to sit in the Weasley’s warm, homely kitchen, surrounded by some of the people he loved most in the world, eating, laughing, and arguing, all at an ear-splitting volume.

The only downside to the occasion was the Weasleys’ insatiable curiosity as far as Harry’s girlfriend was concerned. Of course it was one of the first things Ron opened his big mouth to say. Waiting for a slight lessening of the racket, he announced the fact that Harry was hurrying back to Durmstrang because of a girl. There was instant hubbub as questions were fired at him from around the table. He answered as best he could without giving the game away, but Harry noticed a questioning look in Ginny’s eyes, and when he got a moment he gave her a wink. She brightened considerably, as soon as she knew she was in on a secret. In the end Harry managed to get away without telling too many lies, but on his return home that evening, he lay awake in bed for several hours, realising for the first time just how huge an impact his relationship with Lucius would have on his friends if it ever got to the stage he hoped that it would—the stage where he would want to introduce Lucius as his partner.

He visited Krum as promised, and spent a very pleasant day in the company of the Quidditch Instructor. They browsed the shops along Diagon Alley, and even ventured into Knockturn Alley because Viktor expressed a wish to see the infamous street. In the afternoon, they went to watch the Knightsbridge Knights Quidditch team in a training session, and then finished the day, weary but happy, in the Leaky Cauldron.

Ron had begged to be allowed to join Harry on his trip, as he was still incredibly in awe of the ex-Bulgarian Seeker, but at the last minute he had to cry off. The redhead had been mooning around after one of the Chudley Cannons Chasers, Fi Gibson, the girl for whom he had hosted the birthday party. Finally, and somewhat unexpectedly, she had agreed to go out with him. It was some measure of Ron’s infatuation with her, that he turned down the chance to spend the day with Viktor Krum so that he could take Fi out on a date.

She was to be, inadvertently, Harry’s saviour. Ron had become more and more enthusiastic about the idea of returning to Durmstrang with Harry, and spending a week or so at the school. He was intrigued, he said, to see what the place was like...and keen to meet the blonde bombshell Harry had found for himself. However, as soon as Fi Gibson agreed to go out with him, Ron came to Harry and apologetically pointed out that it might not be such a good idea for him to go away on holiday so early in he and Fi’s relationship. It was sad, but he was sure Harry would understand.

Harry painted a suitably regretful expression on his face—whilst breathing a hefty sigh of relief inside—but agreed with Ron that it might not be prudent to desert his new girlfriend, and suggested that Ron could always come and stay another time.

The little book he had bought as a gift for Lucius had remained on its shelf; Harry hadn’t even opened it. He spoke to it every night—in a whisper—telling it that it was not to get used to him, that it was a gift for someone else. At first he had felt silly talking to the small volume, but there was something so very... _knowing_ about it, that Harry became convinced that it understood every word he said. And the more he spoke to it, the more he felt as if he had in his possession something wondrous; it was as if he were looking at a keyhole, knowing that if he bent down and looked through it, he would see a whole new world on the other side. In a similar way he had a feeling that if he opened the cover of the little book, he would see wonders indeed. But the book was not for him. He felt that as instinctively as he had felt the book _liked_ him, back at Flourish and Blotts. The book was content for Harry to care for it...but only until it reached its rightful owner—which Harry had no doubt was Lucius.

After three weeks Harry packed his bags with a sigh of relief, bid his friends goodbye and set off back to Durmstrang.


	10. Did You Miss Me?  Just a Little?

  
Author's notes: Harry returns from his time away from Durmstrang.  


* * *

****

Did You Miss Me? Just a Little?

Harry’s journey back to Durmstrang was uneventful. He said goodbye to Ron, wryly noting the look of relief on his friend’s face—and sure that Ron could see the same expression on his.

Although he and Ron were still close friends, they had spent _so_ much time together in the past, been _through_ so much together, that now it was as if they needed to re-establish their own separate identities. Harry knew that although Ron would never admit it, his redheaded friend was looking forward to having Harry’s house all to himself again.

He himself was almost as desperate to get back to school…and to Lucius. He couldn’t believe just how much he had missed the man: had missed sharing lessons with him, pitting his wits against the skilled Offence teacher; had missed being seated across from him at the table, when Lucius joined the other members of staff for meals; had missed the one evening a week he got to have Lucius all to himself. 

During the time they had been apart, Harry had spent many hours trying to understand just what it was about the haughty pure-blood that attracted him. By rights he should hate the man, should abhor everything that he stood for, everything that he was. But he didn’t. Maybe it was because he had already fallen in love with the Offence teacher as Valentin, before he had found out who he really was, but somehow he was able to see beyond Lucius’ many and undeniable faults, to the man that lay beneath the outer layers of arrogance, intolerance and resentment. And beneath those layers dwelt a man who was possessed of a keen sense of wit, who was highly intelligent, who could speak fluidly and entertainingly about the subjects that interested him, a man who, Harry had discovered, had a way with children that earned him their respect and devotion, a man who also, Harry suspected, would love deeply and passionately once his affections were attached. Lucius was a man who was aware of his own place in the world, and whilst that might, to those who did not know him, make him appear arrogant and condescending, to Harry, who _did_ now know Lucius, it made the man appear confident and self-possessed.

 

****

****

The sight that met Harry’s eyes when he tumbled out of the Floo into Durmstrang’s dining hall, was not the one that he had expected to see. Granted, the majority of the teachers had departed the school for the long holidays, but Harry knew for a fact that several of the teachers were staying…as, of course, was Lucius. And whilst it was too much to hope for, that Lucius himself might be dining downstairs that night, there should have been at least a few of the teachers seated around the tables.

Instead the great room was deserted and eerily silent.

Harry picked himself up off the floor, dusted the soot from his clothes and then, grabbing his rucksack from where it had fallen, set off for his rooms.

It was odd. Although he had of course been in the school before when the children were absent, somehow the castle seemed even more empty and forsaken. The corridors echoed with the sound of his footsteps, and on more than one occasion Harry glanced back over his shoulder. It was with an un-admitted sense of relief that he reached his rooms and, uttering the password, let himself in, and dropped his rucksack on the floor.

Harry took a deep breath and exhaled slowly, feeling the tension he hadn’t been aware of feeling, ease from his back and shoulders. He clapped his hands to summon Festus. 

It was several moments before the little house-elf appeared, and when he did so, it was with a slightly distracted air...and a curl of streamer around one ear. “Oh, ah, Master Harry! You has returned early from your holidays? Did you have a good time?”

“Yes, I did, thanks, Festus. Festus, where is everyone?”

“Oh, erm, well, Master Vlad is giving all we house-elves ‘time off’, Master Harry, Sir.” Festus enunciated the words “time off” as if they were in a foreign language he did not understand; a slightly pained expression stole over the elf’s face. “The professors has gone to the town, Master Harry, to the Cloak and Dagger Inn, for their meal this evening. They have only just left, if Master Harry would care to join them. Or Festus could bring something for Master Harry to eat in his room?” the elf added, with a distinct note of reluctance in his voice.

“That’s okay, Festus, you go and enjoy your time off; I’ll catch up with everyone at the pub. Erm, do you happen to know if Master Lu…Valentin is with them?”

The elf gave him a sharp look. “I believe that he is indeed, Sir. Well, if you are quite sure Sir? Then Festus will return to the party…ah, to the _kitchens_ , Sir.” With a bow the elf vanished and Harry chortled to himself over the elf’s slip. 

Harry quickly washed, and changed into something he considered to be more alluring, then set off to the Floo connection.

 

****

****

The first thing Harry noticed when he picked himself up off the inn floor, was that the place was a great deal busier in the evening that it ever was during the day. He and the other teachers quite frequently visited the inn at the weekends to have their lunch there, but they were always back at school before the evening.

Each small table was crowded round with people, mostly wizards, who were all talking and drinking at a great rate. Harry searched the room until he spotted the group of Durmstrang teachers seated in an alcove to one side of the big main room. Oddly, Vlad wasn’t with them, and Harry briefly wondered where the headmaster was, as he fought his way across the packed space and arrived at the table, trying to keep the grin off his face at the sight of Valentin, lounging in a corner seat—the older wizard said nothing, only one eyebrow raised a fraction. He was greeted warmly by the other professors, answering those who expressed surprise to see him back so soon, that he had some matters that needed to be dealt with. 

Harry realised that there was no way he could sit by Valentin, flanked as the man was by Dmitri on one side, and the Herbology teacher, Madame Venitia on the other. But just as he was about to squeeze himself onto the end of the seat, Dmitri rose, explaining that it was his turn to buy a round of drinks. As a result of the subsequent manoeuvring, Harry found himself wedged into the corner next to Valentin. Once conversation had resumed, in an undertone Valentin remarked, “Really, Mister Potter, I had no idea my charms were such that you would cut short a visit home to return to my side.” He had meant it as a joke at Harry’s expense, but the young wizard turned the tables. “Oh, they are, _Valentin_. I missed you every day I was away, and couldn’t bear to be apart from you any longer. I bet you missed me too, didn’t you? Just a little?” To anyone overhearing their exchange, it would merely come across as some light-hearted bantering. But Harry and Valentin were both well aware of the seriousness that lay behind the comments.

Dmitri returned, bearing a round wooden tray on which stood a number of small shot glasses and bottle of some unidentifiable liquid. With a flourish he placed it onto the table. “Here, ve vill drink some good stuff! This vill put hairs on your chest.”

“I sincerely hope not,” commented Madame Venitia.

“What is it?” Harry asked dubiously.

“This, my young Harry, is schnapps. But not just any schnapps—this schnapps is only distilled here, in my home town, from apricots and almonds, vith just a hint of cherry. Very good! Very potent!”

“Then, Mister Potter, being a relative youngster, had better have a butterbeer.”

Dmitri turned to Valentin, full of protest. “Ah, no, Valentin, this is especially _for_ Mister Potter; come, Harry, you vill try some, yes?”

Rather reluctantly, Harry nodded. Dmitri withdrew the cork from the bottle, and poured a measure of the clear liquid into one of the small glasses. Harry could have sworn that he saw a faint wisp of orange vapour. Hesitatingly he brought the glass to his lips. 

“Down in one,” Dmitri ordered.

Harry, with his eyes closed, tossed back the drink. A sudden warmth hit the back of his throat and blazed a trial directly to his ‘get drunk quick’ receptor. A few seconds later the flavour found Harry’s taste buds. The schnapps was surprisingly good, sort of sharp, mellow, sweet and bitter, all at the same time. Harry licked his lips and handed his glass back when Dmitri offered him a refill.

“I should go easy, if I were you,” Valentin said softly, a distinctly warning tone in his voice. “Dmitri wasn’t exaggerating when he said it is very potent.”

Harry ignored him; already flushed with the first hit of strong alcohol on an empty stomach, he threw back the second glass to applause and cheers. Before he could chase it down with a third, Valentin stopped him with a hand on his arm. “If you are truly intent on rotting your insides with that stuff,” he hissed, “at least have something to eat.”

Madame Venitia, catching the end of the sentence agreed. “Yes, something to eat. I’m famished.” She gesticulated at a nearby waiter, and soon they all had platters of steaming hot stew in front of them. A huge basket of bread was placed in the middle of the table, and they all set to with gusto. 

Harry was by now feeling the effects of two shots of very strong alcohol. The room began to waver in and out of focus, and when people moved, they seemed to do so in an oddly disjointed way. Realising just how drunk he was, Harry tried to repair some of the damage by eating as much bread as he could with his stew, in an attempt to absorb at least _some_ of the alcohol. 

But Dmitri’s local brew must have been very fast acting, because he didn’t feel any difference when he had finished his meal, and was indeed still so befuddled, that he didn’t refuse when Dmitri went the rounds with the bottle of schnapps—the only person who refrained was Valentin. He held up his hand when the bottle paused over his glass. “Thank you, but no. I feel that at least one of us should be compos mentis enough to ensure the rest get back through the Floo to school safely. Who knows where you might end up if you had to say ‘Durmstrang’ after several glasses of your killer schnapps, Dmitri!”

Harry laughed loudly. “I can’t shay…I can’t sshtay…I can’t _say_ Drumshrang _now_!”

Valentin frowned at him. “That much is blatantly obvious. Perhaps some restraint is in order?”

“No,” Harry cried. “Pour me another, Dmitri!”

From Harry’s perspective the evening became a series of snapshots: of the others cheering when he tossed back another drink; of a hubbub of sound as the volume in the pub rose proportionately with the quantity of alcohol that had been consumed; of the warm feel of Valentin pressed to his side in the tight space around the table; of floating in a hazy, mellow daze. Of a sharp ringing noise as the Landlord rang ‘time’. Of trying to get to his feet…and failing repeatedly. Of a babble of conversation over his head, and the feel of Valentin hauling him upright.

“Come on, Mister Potter; let’s get you back to school.

Harry experienced a brief whirling blackness, which, drunk as he was, he couldn’t be sure was attributable to the effects of the schnapps, or to the Floo—until he fell out of the great fireplace into Durmstrang’s dining hall. He was once more pulled to his feet, whereupon a hissed conversation took place over his head that he caught brief sentences of.

“But it’s _your_ fault….”

“Your room…only ten yards….”

“So I’m expected…not light, you know….”

“May have to come back…carry me!” Dmitri laughed.

Harry tried carefully to take the weight back onto his own two feet. “I’m prefeckeley… _perfeckly_ able to….”

He wasn’t…he was dragged up off the floor, and with a string of muttered vitriol that would have impressed Harry, had he been conscious enough to notice, Valentin began to half drag, half carry Harry upstairs.

Finally they reached the door to Harry’s room.

“Password?” Valentin demanded.

Harry regarded him owlishly. “Shay what now?”

“Your password!” Valentin repeated, slowly and clearly, his voice heavy with barely suppressed fury.

“Oh! My pashword!” Harry wavered around and stared at the door.

After several moments Valentin said, “Well?”

“Well what?” Harry asked.

“Say the bloody password, Potter, or Merlin help me I’ll hex you right here, right now!”

Finally something managed to penetrate the alcoholic fog that had condensed in Harry’s brain.

“Hugnarian…Nughariun…Hungrarian….”

Valentin took a deep, menacing breath.

“Hungarian Horntail,” Harry blurted.

With one hand on the scruff of Harry’s neck, Valentin used the other to push open the door. Then he dragged Harry inside and over to the bed where, with a push, Harry fell sprawling. He began to laugh. “ _Now_ you’re deshperate to get me into bed!”

“Goodnight, Mister Potter,” Valentin said firmly, turning back to the door.

“No!” Harry’s voice was loud in the quiet room. “You shtay!”

Valentin turned back to him with a curl of his lip. “Really? I don’t think so…you’re not in any fit state for anything except sleep.”

“Shtay!” Harry reiterated. “You owe me…three weeksh…three weeksh I had to do without you…mished you…like crazy…shtay!”

“Don’t be ridiculous!”

Harry fumbled in his pockets, and the next moment Valentin was looking down a shaft of holly. “Shtay,” Harry repeated, his voice low and menacing.

Valentin’s eyes moved from the wand tip, which was surprisingly steady, to Harry’s eyes. “All right, but will you at least allow me to fetch you a potion from my room?”

Harry’s face suffused with confusion, finally he slurred, “Okay, but you come shtraight back, got it?”

Valentin left the room and Harry lay back on his bed, amusing himself by watching the canopy of the bed float around. Finally he began to remove his clothes. He had managed his shoes, his trousers and his boxers by the time Valentin returned, but the buttons on his shirt had proved an insurmountable hurdle.

“Help me,” he wailed plaintively. 

Valentin sighed deeply, and handed Harry a small vial of dark purple liquid. “Drink this, Mister Potter. Now!”

Harry took the bottle with a wavering hand and glared at it. “What ish it?”

“It’s sober-up potion. Now come on, get it down you. I doubt it will counteract all the effects of that damn schnapps, but it will go some way towards negating the effects of the alcohol in your system.”

Harry clumsily uncorked the vial and sniffed the top. “Ew, it shtinks.”

“Drink it!” Valentin growled.

Harry drank, with an accusing look at Valentin. The older wizard took the little bottle back and placed it on the side table by the bed. “Come on, let’s get you into bed.”

Between them both, Harry being more of a hindrance than a help, the young wizard was soon under the bed covers. Valentin straightened up. “Right, I’ll leave you to it…”

“No!” Harry’s voice was determined. “I meant what I shaid. You have to shtay. Get undreshed and get into bed with me. And change into Looshus!” He giggled. “Lushus Looshus.” The wand had appeared again, and Harry waved it in Lucius’ direction. “Shtrip,” he said firmly. 

With his eyes fixed on Harry, Valentin morphed into Lucius, slowly undressed, and slid under the heavy covers. “Now what, Mister Potter? Do you wish to paw me again, or shall I fuck your insensible body?”

Harry had sagged back onto his pillows, his wand clattering to the floor. “Jusht…will you just hold me?” Harry turned onto his side, his green eyes looking pleadingly into Lucius’ grey ones.

There was a flash of surprise on Lucius’ face, then, with a sigh, he rolled onto his back. Harry crept across the intervening distance, and with a sigh of his own, nestled into Lucius’ side. With a quiet moan of contentment, he pillowed his cheek on the older wizard’s broad chest, his arm coming to rest with a palm cupping a nipple, and then, soothed by the steady beat of the older wizard’s heart, he sank into sleep, vaguely aware, as he tumbled into the arms of Morpheus, that Lucius’ arms had come around him and held him tightly.

 

****

****

When Harry next opened his eyes, it was to a room filled with shadows and a ruddy glow from the dying fire. Everything had a strange, surreal quality about it, and for a few moments he wondered if he were dreaming...then he knew for certain that he was, for a warm body was pressed against his back, spooning around him like a lover, and an arm lay over his waist. But if he was dreaming, then it was a very vivid dream, because Harry could feel the soft waft of breath on his hair, and the arm resting on him was heavy and warm.

But if it wasn’t a dream, it was so similar to so many that Harry had had, both asleep and awake, as to be indistinguishable. How many times had he imagined what it would be like to wake and feel Lucius curled around him? To be surrounded by Lucius’ warmth? To feel the older wizard’s breath on him?

Very carefully, Harry risked a press back against the solid body behind him…and had to bight back a gasp as a rigid prick wedged between the cheeks of his arse. Almost immediately, the arm that had been draped over him moved, and then a hand slid over his hip and down his thigh. 

The hand moved slowly, sensuously, over Harry’s skin, brushing back up his thigh and then over his stomach, teasingly avoiding Harry’s by now erect prick and instead heading for Harry’s peaked nipples. Long fingers brushed shadow-soft over the excited nubs, and then returned, this time with more intent. The small nubs were tweaked and twirled, and the ball of a thumb swept over the sensitive buds, causing Harry to whimper quietly.

Lucius muttered a spell, and then Harry felt the feeling of fullness and relaxation run up his channel. He was pulled back more firmly, so that he came to rest in the circle of Lucius’ arms, the lower one coming up to hold him tightly across his chest, the upper hand taking a hold of his hip...and then Harry let out a moan as Lucius’ prick was pushed inside him in one long, slow stroke, whilst at the same time the hand holding his hip pulled him back to meet the thrust. 

For several long heartbeats, Lucius stilled, pressed tightly to Harry’s back and arse, almost as if he were trying to meld their flesh together. Harry’s hands came up to clench the arm across his chest as finally Lucius began to move.

It was a slow, incredibly intense, rocking motion—the in and out thrust no more than an inch or so, but each impulse was a massage of Harry’s sweet spot, and he felt waves of pleasure course through his body, each one nearly as intense as an orgasm in itself, and each one taking him higher and higher until he felt nearly delirious with the powerful feelings that Lucius was conjuring up.

Harry peaked, but there was no ejaculation. He tried to spare a thought to wonder why, when Lucius drove him to another dry climax. Harry gasped, crying out his wonder. Then Lucius’ hand dropped from Harry’s hip to grasp the young wizard’s cock. It was almost more than Harry could bear; he was dizzy with the thrills coursing through his body, almost overcome by the sensuality of the experience. 

Lucius’ hand was firm and controlled on Harry’s prick, each stroke perfectly judged to produce the maximum amount of pleasure, and once more Harry felt himself reach that plateau from which the only way was down...his body tensed and he came again—this time his cock pumped out into Lucius’ waiting hand, string after string of come. His cry was hoarse; a cry that expressed his complete and utter fulfilment. 

After such a powerful climax, Harry went limp in the arms that still held him tightly, feeling, almost coincidentally, Lucius come deep inside his body. 

Blackness hovered at the edges of his vision, and Harry felt himself slipping back into unconsciousness. A second before he was reclaimed by the darkness, he felt the soft touch of lips on the smooth skin of his shoulder and a deep voice whispered, “For your information, Mister Potter, I did miss you, just a little.”

 

****

****

Harry cranked open one eyelid…and instantly shut it again it an attempt to fool himself into believing that if he kept his eyes shut, he could somehow pretend to still be asleep—and thus put off the evil hour when he would have to wake up and face the music.

He remembered very little of the events of the previous evening, but, as is sometimes the case, the memory of the most awful event of the night remained clear in his head…that of himself forcing Lucius, at wand-point, to get into bed with him.

Harry groaned, and pulled a pillow over his head. He felt absolutely wretched, but a considerable proportion of his bad feeling had nothing to do with Dmitri’s schnapps, and a whole lot more to do with the fact that he had, in one stupid, drunken night, undone all of the progress he had made in getting Lucius to like him.

The incredibly vivid dream he’d had in the small hours of the morning had about as much chance now of becoming reality, as he had of suddenly being able to fly without the help of his broomstick.

“Master Harry?” Festus’ voice whispered, close to his ear.

“What?” came Harry’s muffled reply from beneath the pillow.

“Master Lucius sent me to bring you this.”

Harry sat bolt upright—and immediately regretted it. He might be suffering more from anguished regret than a hangover, but that wasn’t to say he didn’t have an outrageous headache and a churning stomach.

Festus leaned over him, a look of worry on his small face. In his hand he held a vial of clear liquid. “Please, Master Harry, you will feel better once you have drunk this.” He offered the little bottle to Harry.

The young wizard carefully eased himself more upright, and took the proffered bottle. With one gulp he downed the contents, and then subsided once more upon his pillows. In a matter of seconds he began to feel better. The pounding in his head became less like a giant jumping up and down on his brain, and more like a dwarf tapping it with a silver hammer, then his stomach ceased to coil and writhe like a nest of snakes.

Harry let out a sigh. “Thank Master Lucius for me, would you, Festus…wait!” Harry sat up again, hangover forgotten. “What did you say?”

Festus looked nervous. “I said that Master Valentin had sent Master Harry a hangover cure.”

“No you didn’t,” Harry accused. “You called him Lucius—you know who he is! Bloody hell, of course you do.” Harry slapped his own forehead. “You delivered drinks to us, here in my room, when he was Lucius!”

“It is not Festus’ place to speak of Master Vlad’s guests,” the elf said self-righteously, and with an abrupt ‘pop’ he vanished.

Harry frowned. So the elf had known who Lucius was? Well, he supposed that wasn’t too difficult to understand; after all, the house-elves must be privy to a great deal that went on in the school. But what really caused Harry to wrinkle his brow was the fact that Lucius didn’t seem to bear him a grudge over the previous evening’s debacle. Had, in fact, gone so far as to send Harry a hangover cure.

Feeling decidedly more sprightly, Harry hopped out of bed and summoned Festus. The elf looked rather sullen when he arrived, but Harry merely asked that a bath be run and a cup of tea brought up. 

 

****

****

Valentin was the only one seated downstairs in the great hall, much to Harry’s relief. He slid into the seat next to the older wizard.

“Hi,” he said sheepishly.

“I see the potion worked,” Valentin remarked, before taking another bite of his toast and marmalade, and turning over another page of the book he was reading.

“Yeah, it did. Thanks for sending it to me.” Harry paused, unsure quite how to continue. “Look, about last night…I’m really sorry…I was…I’d…I’m sorry.” He stumbled into silence.

Valentin turned to him. “So you remember that bit then, do you?”

Harry blushed. “If you mean the bit about forcing you into bed with me…then yes. That’s about all I do remember. That, and Madame Venitia standing on the table in the pub and singing a version of Eskimo Nell! Merlin, L…Valentin, I’m so very sorry…will you forgive me? Please?”

Valentin regarded him steadily through dark grey eyes. Finally he sighed. “Really, Mister Potter, you must have a very low opinion of me to think that I would be unable to forgive some, ah, _unfortunate_ actions whilst you were under the influence of strong alcohol. Though perhaps next time you will pay more heed to my words of caution.”

“I’m never going to drink again,” Harry said with feeling. “I can’t believe you’re being so good about this, Valentin, thank you.”

Valentin’s gaze went back to his book. “Well, it’s not as it you were in any fit state to take advantage of me, now was it?”

Harry laughed with embarrassment, then began to fumble in his cloak. “I hope you don’t mind, but I brought you a gift, from home.”

Valentin turned to him once more. “Really? That was thoughtful of you.”

Harry produced the book from his pocket, and laid it on the table by Valentin’s plate. “I found it in Flourish and Blotts; they said someone had ordered it and then not collected it….” He trailed off, amazed by the look on Valentin’s face.

The older wizard’s face was a picture of avaricious awe. With his eye fixed on the book, Valentin carefully wiped his hands clean on his napkin, and then ran one finger over the cover of the book. It arched into his touch, much, Harry thought, as he himself would have done.

“The Emaris,” Valentin said softly, all the while running that one finger, caressingly, over the book’s cover.

“The what?” Harry asked. “They never said what it was called when I bought it—only that it was very rare.”

“It is the Emaris, and yes, I suppose you could call it rare…it is one of only three.”

“Wow.” Harry looked with awe at the small book. “So I don’t need to ask if you already have a copy?” He laughed. “I thought it must have been you that ordered it. The man in the shop said the person who should have collected it was a Death Eater.”

“Indeed I did order it. I hunted years for this, _years_. And then, just when my agent had it sourced, and the transaction was underway to purchase it…I found myself unable to collect.” Valentin dragged his eyes away from the tome. “This must have cost you a pretty penny, Mister Potter?”

Harry shrugged and blushed. “It was worth it; I wanted to get you something special…I guess I managed to do that?”

“I would protest, Mister Potter, that I should not accept such an expensive gift. But I will not,” he added, cutting across the start of Harry’s persuasions. “This…this has been mine for a long time, and yet only now has it found its way home to me.”

“What exactly is it?” Harry asked, his voice hushed.

Valentin finally picked up the book. “There were three books written, that contained great knowledge from the old days. Each corresponded to a phase of the moon. The Dark Lord held the book of the Full Moon, Albus Dumbledore, I believe, held the book of the Old Moon, and this, this is the book of the New Moon…of power in the ascendant.” His eyes went to Harry’s. “You have no idea, do you, of the knowledge that is contained in this little book? I think that if you did, you would not have been so eager to gift it to me.” 

Harry was mesmerised by the look in Valentin’s eyes. “I knew,” he whispered. “I knew it was only for you…I never even opened the cover. It was as if…as if it was content for me to care for it, but only because it knew I was bringing it to you.”

Valentin’s eyes returned once more to the tome. “Ah, it would, it would know…it knows many things…things beyond our imagining. I thank you, Harry. This is indeed a very precious and rare gift.”

“You’re very welcome,” Harry managed. “And thank you…for forgiving me, for last night.”

Valentin smiled as he rose to his feet. “Oh, it wasn’t so bad, Mister Potter. Sweet dreams?” And with that he turned and swept from the room, leaving Harry in confusion.


	11. You!

  
Author's notes: Harry makes a startling discovery.  


* * *

****

You!

Harry did not see Lucius again for three days, and when he did he was shocked by the man’s appearance.

He was just about to enter his room, when Valentin turned the corner into the corridor. He halted momentarily on catching sight of Harry, but then he continued until he came abreast of the young wizard.

Harry looked worriedly into Valentin’s face; the older wizard looked as if he hadn’t slept since Harry had last seen him. There were dark shadows beneath his eyes and the pale face was marred by lines that Harry was sure had not been there before. 

“God, Valentin, what’s wrong…you look terrible.”

Valentin produced a shadow of a wry smile. “Thank you, Mister Potter.”

“I’m sorry, only…you _do_ look terrible. What is it?”

“Nothing you need concern yourself with, Mister Potter.”

“But is there nothing I can do?” 

“I doubt it.”

“Are you sure, maybe I can help?” Harry persisted

“It is nothing.” Valentin’s voice had gone hard, and it was with an obvious effort that he schooled it to a more moderate tone. “Please…do not worry, Mister Potter.”

Harry laid a tentative hand on Valentin’s arm. He gazed intently into the dark grey eyes that were looking down at him. “But I do worry about you,” he said quietly. “I care about you…a lot. Surely you’ve realised that by now? I love you, Lucius…I _love_ you!”

Valentin’s hand came up to briefly caress Harry’s cheek. “Do you, Harry? Do you really? You shouldn’t, you know…I am everything you should hate and despise. I stood at the side of the man who killed your parents.”

“He also killed your wife and son…and you left him in the end.”

Valentin’s eyes were pools of grey sadness. “Yes, I did leave him…but too late.”

Without another word he turned away, and continued down the passage to his room, then Harry heard the solid sound of the door to Valentin’s chambers being closed. His hand went to his cheek as he marvelled over the soft, caressing touch that Lucius had bestowed upon him. It was the first time that the older wizard had ever voluntarily reached out to him and given him any indication that he regarded Harry with some affection.

Slowly he turned and went into his own room, still wondering what it was that had caused Lucius to look so distressed and unwell. He determined to request Lucius’ presence in his rooms that evening, and hoped that he might persuade the Offence teacher to divulge the reason for his sadness.

 

****

****

He was thwarted in his intentions. Lucius was not present for the evening meal and Harry heard the headmaster answer Madame Venetia’s query as to where Valentin was, with a reply that the man was indisposed.

As soon as the meal was over, Harry hurried after Vlad. 

“Excuse me? Vlad?”

The headmaster turned back to Harry. “Ah, Harry, and what can I do for you?”

“It’s just,” Harry began awkwardly, “well, I overheard you telling Madame Venetia that Valentin was indisposed. He’s not…he’s not _ill_ or anything, is he? Only I saw him earlier and he looked…well, to be honest, he looked dreadful.”

The headmaster’s smile was reassuring…and so were his words. “Valentin is quite well; you have no need to worry on that score, Harry. He has just had some bad news, that is all.” He paused, and a twinkle came into his eye. “I am pleased that you and he seem to have overcome your differences…dare I hope that there may be something more?”

“I’m not so worried that he might hex me when my back is turned, if that’s what you mean?” Harry grinned sheepishly. “Yes, we _are_ getting on better…I don’t want to jinx things by saying too much, but I hope that maybe….” He left the sentence unfinished but Vlad took his meaning.

“I am pleased. It is time he found someone to love…and who loves him.” He looked questioningly at Harry.

“I do love him…very much. But I think he’s finding it hard to believe that I do. Or,” Harry went on reflectively, “allowing himself to believe that _he_ might feel something for _me_.”

The headmaster gave Harry a piercing look. “That, Harry, is probably very close to the mark. Valentin has a hard time trusting anyone…least of all himself. He has made some _unfortunate_ choices in the past, choices that have led to heartache and pain. Give him time. If you truly love him, he _will_ come to realise it.”

“I will give him time, all he needs. I’m not going to stop loving him anytime soon.”

“Good, good. Well, Harry, I must be off…things to sort out before next term, you know.” Vlad turned to go.

Harry bit his lip, then made his decision. “I know who Valentin really is.”

Vlad stopped short, then slowly turned back to face the young wizard. “Ah. I wondered when you would admit it to me. Lucius told me you knew.”

Harry asked a question that had been lurking at the back of his mind for a long while. “Vlad, knowing who Valentin really was…why did you still try to get the two of us together?”

The headmaster smiled. “As odd as it might sound, I knew the two of you would do each other good, would compliment each other. And having already fallen in love with Lucius as Valentin, I knew there was a good chance you would be able to see beyond your prejudices, beyond the fact that he was Lucius Malfoy, a man you were brought up to hate, and see the man behind the mask. Also,” the headmaster added, “Lucius needs someone strong to love him, someone determined.”

“I have to say that disturbed me, at first—the fact that I _did_ still love him, even when I knew he was Lucius.”

“I’ll admit,” Vlad continued, “that Lucius has changed over the last two years. Although he wasn’t always the person you knew when you were growing up—an evil Death Eater—Lucius was never an easy man to love. Too many prejudices, too much resentment…but a lot of that had to do with the way he was raised. If you think Lucius is anti-Muggle, you should have met his father, Abraxus.” The headmaster pulled a face. “Now there was a man who _really_ gave the pure-blood cause a bad name. Lucius was bombarded, from an early age, with the doctrine that he was superior, that Muggles and Muggle-born witches and wizards were scum, and so far beneath him as to be unworthy of notice…unless it was to notice them enough to wipe them out. Abraxus Malfoy was one of the first people to back Voldemort, and was instrumental in seeing that the man made it through the door into a lot of places where normally he would not have been welcome. Lucius never really had the opportunity to form his own opinions about things…by the time he _did_ start to question what he was doing, it was too late…and he paid a dear price.”

Harry nodded. “Yes, he did…both his wife and his son…and to people who were supposed to be on his side. The murdering bastards,” he added viciously. “My only regret about killing Voldemort is that I didn’t do it sooner.”

Vlad gave Harry a searching look. “If I may, Harry, I have a question of my own?”

Harry nodded.

“Why did you not hand Lucius over to the authorities, when you knew who he was?”

Harry’s mind whirled. So Lucius had told Vlad that Harry had discovered his real identity, but had not mentioned the deal they had come to with regard to how Lucius was to keep himself out of Azkaban. In the end, the answer to Vlad’s question came to him more readily than he had thought it would, which led him to suspect that deep down he had harboured these feelings for some time. 

“He’s paid enough…we have _all_ paid enough. I don’t think there is anything to be gained by raking up the past…besides, for most of the war he was in Azkaban…and then he was here. And he left Voldemort of his own volition…albeit for personal reasons.”

“Yet you know that the Aurors would not share your view?”

Harry shrugged. “Most people believe that Lucius Malfoy is dead… What they don’t know won’t hurt them. But I have to admit,” he added slowly, “that I have started to wonder if I could use my influence to secure a pardon for him. If our relationship ever gets to the stage that I hope it will, I won’t want to hide him away.”

“You could do that?” Vlad asked sharply.

“I’m not sure—I still have some influence...and the Minister for Magic has been like a father to me in the past; it’s just a pity that Mr Weasley is not one of Lucius’ biggest fans…still, I could see what I could do.”

“Would you asking questions in this regard not merely alert them to the fact that Lucius is alive, and that you know where he is?”

Harry rubbed his eyes and sighed. “Yes, it might do. And then if I don’t get him a pardon, here will be the first place they will start to look.”

The headmaster placed a hand on Harry’s shoulder. “If you truly think it is possible you could get him a pardon, Harry, then we’ll think of something.”

Harry nodded. “I’ll keep thinking, maybe I’ll come up with a way.”

 

****

****

Harry returned to his room, his mind full of thoughts of how he could possibly go about getting a pardon for Lucius—without alerting the authorities to the fact that he knew where the man was.

He had first given the matter some thought when he had returned to Godric’s Hollow, and realised just how much he was missing the older wizard. With the idea at the back of his mind that maybe one day he and Lucius might get to the stage where he would want to introduce the man as his partner, he had played out various scenarios…all of which had sadly led him to the same conclusion—that as soon as he mentioned the matter to the relevant authorities, they would immediately, and rightly, assume that he knew where Lucius was. Especially as up until that point they would have been labouring under the illusion that the man was dead.

And then there was the worry that if he _did_ manage to secure Lucius a pardon, the older wizard would not choose to spend his new-found freedom with Harry. As far as Harry knew, the Ministry had taken all of the Malfoy wealth and estates, soon after Lucius escaped from Azkaban, and, when rumours of the man’s death had begun to circulate, the property had been sold off and the Galleons had disappeared into the Ministry coffers. There was still a chance, however, that the money might be returned and that would enable Lucius to be independent, to do as he pleased, where he pleased...and with whom he pleased.

There was another problem nagging at Harry’s conscience. Thinking about it, Harry realised that something else had come up in he and Vlad’s conversation that was also pertinent…the fact that Lucius had paid for his crimes.

And if that was what Harry truly believed—and he did—then he was doing the man an injustice by holding the threat of Azkaban over his head. Whatever it cost him, Harry had to release Lucius from his contract.

His mind made up, Harry decided, for once, to brave knocking on Lucius’ door.

 

****

****

Lucius’ rooms were a little way along the corridor beyond Harry’s own rooms. He marched along the passage, trying to convince himself he wasn’t scared about knocking on Lucius’ door, until he came to the solid piece of oak. There he stood for several long seconds, before finally raising his hand and tapping timidly on the door.

After a minute, when there was still no answer, Harry reached out and knocked again, this time with rather more force…the door creaked open a few inches under his fist. He stared at the sliver of room that he could see through the crack.

“Lucius?” he called.

There was no response. Harry reached out and pushed the door open a little further. “Lucius? Are you there?” Finally, with the thought of how ill Lucius had looked earlier that day, and fearful the man might be seriously unwell, Harry pushed the door open fully and stepped inside.

He entered what appeared to be a sitting room. A large fireplace, where several logs crackled merrily, stood against one wall to his right. On his left, against the other wall, was a small dining table with two chairs tucked neatly beneath. Before the fire, a large leather sofa sat on a thick, beautifully patterned Turkish rug, flanked on either side by two armchairs. There were two low side tables, both heaped with books.

To either side of the great fireplace was a door. With trepidation, Harry approached the one nearest to him. He tapped quietly on it, then turned the round handle and let himself in.

The room was a bedroom, as evinced by the neatly made up four-poster…but it was also a playroom. Toys were scattered all over the floor, in a wide circle around the figure that was seated in the middle of a dark green rug, playing with a group of tiny model dragons.

Harry gasped, unable to believe his eyes. “You!”

The figure turned round quickly, eyes wide with fear. “Who, who’re you?”

Harry looked into the pale blue eyes of Draco Malfoy, and realised that the blonde boy really did have no idea who he was. 

“Have…have you come to play with me?”

Harry floundered. “I…I….”

“No,” came a voice from behind him. “Mister Potter has come to see me, Draco.”

Draco beamed. “Hello, Daddy. Will _you_ play with me?”

Lucius loomed from behind Harry, and, with a vice like grip on his arm, bustled him from the room. “In a little while, Draco; just let me speak to Mister Potter for a moment.”

Lucius firmly closed the door to the bedroom, then turned a furious eye on Harry. “What the hell are you doing in my rooms?” he hissed.

Harry didn’t answer the question…he had too many of his own. “What’s _he_ doing here?” he demanded in an undertone, conscious of Draco’s presence on the other side of the door. “Everyone thought he was dead…and what happened to him?” he added, the accusatory tone fading from his voice.

Lucius’ face was a bitter mask of pain. “He was forced to watch while his mother was raped, tortured and then brutally murdered—then they turned their wands on him.”

“Oh God.” Harry’s expression twisted with horror.

Lucius turned from him, his shoulders sagging. He went to the fire and, picking up the poker, began to jab at the logs. He continued, his voice barely audible, “I received word in prison, that Cissa and Draco were under threat…by the time I effected my escape, it was too late. The Da…that _bastard_ took great delight in returning my wife’s mangled body to me…and then presented me with what was left of my son. Only,” Lucius’ voice became grief-stricken, “only they had been very careful…instructed not to leave any visible signs on his body, they had tortured him out of his mind. I was expected to be suitably grateful that he had been returned to me _without a mark on him_. I took him and ran...all I had with me were the clothes I stood up in, and a small bag of Galleons a friend managed to pass to me.”

There was a sudden, shocking “crash”. Lucius had swept all the ornaments that had been placed on the mantelpiece to the floor; bits of broken china lay scattered, mixed with the insides of the small clock that had been sitting in the middle of the ledge.

Draco’s face appeared around the edge of the bedroom door. “Daddy?” he asked anxiously, “is everything all right?”

Lucius turned and hurried to his son. He pulled the boy in to his arms and held him tightly. “Yes, Draco, everything is fine…Daddy just had a little accident. You go back and play with your dragons…I’ll be through in a few moments.”

Rather reluctantly, and with one last look at Harry, Draco returned to his room.

“So he is the reason why.” Harry said slowly.

“The reason for what?” Lucius asked wearily.

“Why you gave in to my demands so easily?”

Lucius nodded. “Did you really think I would be prepared to prostitute myself for my own sake?” With a casual twist, he removed the heavy silver ring from his finger and tossed it to Harry. The young wizard caught it, and gazed at it open mouthed.

“Two days, Harry. It took me two days to remove your spells.” Lucius glanced at the door to Draco’s room. “I had something that bound me here far more effectively than any Portkey ring.”

“Is he...will he ever get better?” Harry asked in a whisper.

Lucius shrugged. “He has improved a little since we arrived at Durmstrang. I think somehow he feels safe here...although he rarely leaves his room. He has retreated into the mind of a young child, albeit one in the body of a man.”

“And does he really not remember me?”

“Draco recalls very little of life before...before....” Lucius stopped, obviously unable to go on.

Harry crossed the room in two quick strides and wrapped his arms around the older wizard, pulling him close. He could feel Lucius’ heart beating rapidly and the man’s breath hitched as if he were trying to fight back tears. For a few moments Lucius allowed himself to be held, then he gently disentangled himself from Harry’s arms.

The grey eyes were blurred by tears, but the older wizard collected himself and when he spoke there was no waver in his voice. “What was it you wanted, Mister Potter? To inform me my presence is required this evening?”

Harry shook his head rapidly. “No, I came to tell…no, I don’t want you to come anymore.” With one last desperate look at Lucius, Harry fled the room.

Reaching his own chambers he barged through the door, slammed it behind him, and then threw himself face down on his bed, finally giving in to the loud sobs that had threatened to overwhelm him in Lucius’ rooms.

The knowledge of what had been done to Draco had brought back all the memories of Hermione...and the dreadful atrocities that she had suffered before she was finally killed. Harry could only imagine what she, and now Draco, had gone through—the only difference was that Draco still lived...and locked away in his head were the memories of the agonies he had both witnessed and suffered through.

Casualties of war were to be expected, however hard their deaths might be on the ones left behind. But those deaths were counted as something towards the struggle for what each side believed was right. To kill, or worse still, to permanently maim those whom one should counts as fellows, was unforgivable. A travesty. Abhorrent.

And what, for Harry, made matters even worse was what he had put Lucius through. He had thought the man was protecting his own skin. He had been wrong. Lucius had been protecting his son…or what was left of his son.

Further sobs racked Harry’s body as he recalled the look in Draco’s eyes. Whilst he himself had been present at his own mother’s murder, he had at least been spared the torment of being old enough to understand what was happening. And to be forced to witness his mother being raped and tortured….

Harry fled to the bathroom and was copiously sick.

When his stomach had finally emptied itself, Harry got to his feet, rinsed out his mouth and brushed his teeth. Slowly he ran himself a bath, politely but firmly shoo-ing Festus away when the house-elf ‘popped’ in demanding that he should be the one to do such tasks.

He felt numb, shell-shocked, as if the war were occurring around him all over again. Thoughts twisted and tangled in his brain...thoughts that eventually turned to Lucius. He had never seen, or ever _expected_ to see, Lucius so nearly break down and cry. To him, Lucius had only ever been a strong man, completely in control of himself, and to witness what he had seen this evening….

Harry sank gratefully into the deep, warm water, and then lay back and allowed the heat to sink into his body and relax his tense muscles.

 

****

****

An hour later he emerged from the bathroom, to find that Festus had laid out his pyjamas, and placed a bottle of red wine on the small table by his fire-side chair. Harry smiled faintly at the thoughtfulness of the small elf. He dragged on his dressing gown, and had just seated himself in his chair, when there was a knock at his door. The little clock on the mantelpiece began to chime ten o’clock as Harry went to open it…to find Lucius stood in the corridor outside.

Harry gazed at him in confusion…then horror. “No,” he began desperately. “I said…I told you…I don’t want….”

Lucius interrupted him. “This isn’t about what you want, Harry, it’s about what I want.” A hand pushed Harry back into his room, then Lucius kicked the door shut behind them. A second after that, Harry found himself in Lucius’ arms being ruthlessly kissed.

He gave in to the onslaught with a moan, his own arms coming up to hold Lucius to him, finally giving in to his long-standing desire to run his fingers through the older wizard’s long, pale blonde hair. One of Lucius’ hands ran down his back, coming to rest cupped around one of Harry’s arse cheeks, then the young wizard was pulled forward firmly against Lucius’ thigh.

Harry gasped into Lucius’ mouth as his prick pressed against the older wizard’s firm muscles. Lucius released Harry’s lips...only to growl, “Get out of those ridiculous pyjamas and get into bed.”

Harry was only too eager to obey, throwing off his night attire and eagerly watching as Lucius rid himself of his own clothes, his grey eyes intent on Harry. And then they were on the bed together, twined around each other so tightly it was as if they were trying to get inside each other’s body.

“Oh, Lucius,” Harry moaned, as Lucius’ mouth once more left Harry’s…and began to move down his neck, over his shoulders, and down to Harry’s nipples. For a moment Lucius raised his head to stare at Harry. “My turn,” he said with a grin.

Harry gasped as Lucius’ hot mouth descended onto one of his pert nipples—and then sucked it inside into a world of wet pleasure. He arched his chest, desperate for more, as Lucius began to skilfully tongue Harry’s erect nubs, at the same time nipping delicately at the sensitive buds. 

A firm hand skimmed over Harry’s chest and down over his stomach...then Harry moaned as the hand by-passed his now aching cock and continued onto the young wizard’s taut thighs.

“Lucius, please,” he begged.

Lucius merely chuckled in response, the vibrations sending shivers of sensation through the nipple Lucius happened to have in his mouth at the time. Then the older wizard’s mouth left off sucking at Harry’s nipples and began to descend. It was all Harry could do not to squirm as Lucius’ long, silky hair trailed ticklishly over his thoroughly aroused body, and Lucius’ lips kissed their way over his flesh towards Harry cock.

When Lucius’ mouth reached its destination, Harry forgot his own name. 

Never, _never_ had he imagined it would feel so incredible to have one’s cock taken into another’s mouth: to feel the hot, wet warmth; to experience the play of a tongue on the tip of his cock; to nearly loose his mind as Lucius sucked, pressing his skilful tongue up the length of his cock, before releasing it and blowing gently on the glans.

Harry let out a cry, and struggled not to come right there and then. Lucius pushed Harry’s legs apart and settled himself to lie between Harry’s thighs. And then the young wizard had to bite down hard on his hand, as Lucius set about demonstrating just how _much_ pleasure could be given by one’s mouth to another’s prick.

It didn’t take long. Harry had been wound up too tight inside to resist Lucius’ expert ministrations for any length of time. As much as he wanted what Lucius was doing to him to never stop, Harry came, not even gathering his wits enough to give the older wizard warning.

“Lucius, oh god, Lucius, Lucius.”

He felt his prick pump into Lucius’ mouth...and felt his essence swallowed down, then a delicate tongue lapped around the tip of his cock.

Lucius slid back up Harry’s body, coming to rest with his own hard cock pressed to Harry’s now quiescent one. He bent to possess Harry’s mouth again, and Harry tasted himself as he pushed his tongue desperately into the older wizard’s mouth.

For a while they kissed. The immediate fever burnt out, they twined together in a slow dance, until Harry began to feel his cock stir again. Lucius moved to reach his wand on the bedside table...and Harry made to roll onto his hands and knees. He was halted by Lucius’ hand on his chest, and a shake of the older wizard’s head.

“No, not this time, Harry. This time I want to see your face.”

For a long moment grey eyes met green—and then Harry understood the significance of what Lucius had said. 

He drew in a trembling breath and fought to keep the tears from his eyes. Lucius guided Harry to draw his knees up to his chest, then the tip of a wand was pressed to Harry’s entrance, and the now familiar feeling of being stretched and lubricated by magic, coursed through the young wizard’s channel.

He spread his knees, never taking his eyes off Lucius as the older wizard replaced his wand on the table, and then moved back between Harry’s thighs.

Harry drew in his breath as the tip of Lucius’ cock pressed against him, and then he let it out in a gasp as he was slowly and inexorably filled. When Lucius was finally fully seated, he paused, his eyes intent on Harry’s face. Then slowly he began to thrust, each stroke seeming to pierce Harry to his very core, so deeply did Lucius enter him...and each thrust brushed unerringly over that secret place in Harry’s body that made him cry out and see stars.

Sensation pulsed through Harry’s body, through his torso and then down each of his limbs, shaking him like a breeze trembles the leaves on a tree, and he wrapped his legs around Lucius’ back in an attempt to anchor himself, and his fingers scrabbled at the Lucius’ shoulders as his arms went around the man poised above him. 

He fought to keep his eyes fixed on those of Lucius, as the blonde wizard gazed down at him; but the feelings became too much as Lucius began to drive faster into Harry’s pliant, willing body. His eyelids fluttered shut as he felt his orgasm racing towards him.

“Now,” he cried. “Oh, Lucius, now, _now_.”

Almost at the same time as Harry climaxed, he felt Lucius give one final hard thrust, then the older wizard stilled and Lucius came himself, deep inside Harry, crying out Harry’s name as he did so.

Lucius collapsed onto Harry’s body, and then rolled so that the young wizard would not be crushed by his weight. They ended up on their sides, pressed tightly together, Harry’s head tucked beneath Lucius’ chin.

For a while, as their breathing slowed, they lay, silently enjoying the closeness of the other. Although Harry was hot, and being pressed to Lucius was not making him any cooler, he would not have moved for the world. He was where he had so often longed to be, that the thought of moving away from the steady beat of Lucius’ heart was one not to be even contemplated.

They dozed, changing position slightly so that Harry now half lay with his cheek pillowed on Lucius’ shoulder, one arm thrown across the older wizard’s broad chest, one leg draped over Lucius’ thigh. Lucius’ arms still held Harry tightly, as if he were somehow afraid Harry might slip away.

Eventually Harry roused himself enough to say, “It was real, wasn’t it? That night when I came back to school?”

In answer Lucius tightened his grip on Harry, pulling the young wizard closer still. 

“Why didn’t you tell me? Why did you let me think it was a dream?” Harry asked.

Lucius was silent for so long that Harry thought the he wasn’t going to answer, then finally Lucius said, “I wasn’t ready to admit to you—or to myself—that I cared for you. I went to sleep with you in my arms, and slept better than I had for years. When I awoke, and realised I was still with you...well, you felt so right—and you fitted against me so well...I’m sorry, I know it was wrong of me to take advantage of you.”

“It doesn’t matter...I just wish I’d been more able to appreciate it.”

Lucius laughed, “I think you enjoyed it well enough.”

“Still,” Harry said, propping himself up on his elbow and gazing down at Lucius, “I wouldn’t say ‘no’ to a repeat performance...just to make sure I didn’t miss anything the first time around!”

Lucius grinned and a second later Harry found himself rolled beneath the older wizard’s body.

They made love again, slowly, tenderly, then Harry slipped contentedly into sleep.

 

****

****

When he awoke, Harry was alone. The room about him was dim in the early morning light, and, without knowing why, Harry felt dread pool in his stomach, turning his insides to ice.

He struggled out of bed and into his dressing gown, then he rushed out of his room and along the corridor to Lucius’ chambers. When he reached them, the door was ajar. Harry entered, then, panicking, he pushed open the door to Draco’s room. It was empty of any sign of habitation...as was Lucius’ room when Harry hurried to check.

With a heartbreaking wail, Harry collapsed to his knees, tears streaming down his cheeks. Lucius, and Draco, had gone.

 

 

**A/N**

Yes, yes...bad Sestra, naughty Sestra, _wicked_ Sestra. I apologise for the cliffie. But you only have a week to wait for the conclusion. Harriverse? I guess you have the answer to that question! LOL.


	12. The Chase

  
Author's notes: Harry and Vlad set about trying to find Lucius and Draco and, at the same time, secure a pardon for them both.  


* * *

****

The Chase

“Harry,” came a voice from the door.

Harry spun round—it was the headmaster, swathed in a black brocade dressing gown. He looked every bit as bad as Harry felt. There were dark shadows beneath his eyes, and he looked as if he hadn’t slept.

“He’s gone,” Harry said stupidly. “Gone…and he never said. WHY, Vlad, WHY?”

Vlad crossed the room quickly and pulled Harry into his arms, holding the miserable young wizard tightly.

“Ssh, Harry, ssh. I know. We’ll just have to find him again.”

Harry pulled away. “You knew,” he accused. “You knew he was going to go. Why didn’t you tell me—I could have stopped him.”

Vlad sat down heavily on the end of the bed. “Yes, I did know he was going, but only when he returned from your room.” He paused. “He called on me last night, asked me to sit with Draco, told me there were some _matters_ he had to attend to.” The headmaster gave a shadow of a smile. “He came back in the early hours…said you were asleep and that he had to go. I tried to argue with him, Harry, truly I did. But his mind was made up. Once you released him from that contract…yes, he told me about that.”

Harry’s faced reddened and he joined the headmaster on the end of the bed, avoiding looking in Vlad’s face. He was not proud of what he had done, and to see the condemnation of his actions in another’s eyes was more than he could stand.

“Well, once you had released him from the contract, he believed that it wouldn’t be too long before your Gryffindor integrity would drive you to report him to the authorities. Lucius could cope with his own incarceration…but what he couldn’t bear was the thought of Draco being cared for by those who would, in all likelihood, believe he’d got what he deserved—or, worse still, imprisoned, where he would have received no care at all.”

“But I would never have reported him…I wanted him to be pardoned… Didn’t you tell him that?” Harry cried.

“Of course I did,” the headmaster reassured him. “But even then he foresaw the problem that _we_ both did…that if you started asking for a pardon for him, on the one hand they would realise he was still alive; on the other, they would know where he was. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust you, Harry,” Vlad added carefully. “It was just that he knows you have a very clear idea of what is right, and that the authorities could probably persuade you that it was in everyone’s best interests to see that Lucius was returned to jail to serve out the rest of his sentence.”

Harry shook his head mutely; he felt completely lost and empty. For a few minutes he and the headmaster sat, lost in their own thoughts, until Harry suddenly jumped to his feet. “We must hurry…perhaps we can catch him. Come on.”

He pulled at Vlad’s arm, trying to drag the man to his feet. Vlad resisted. “Calm down, Harry. There is no point in rushing off, half cocked; Lucius could be a thousand miles away by now…and how would you know where to start looking? No, we need to think…and we need some help.”

Harry sagged back onto the end of the bed, his mind whirling. He had to fight to keep from rushing headlong into the search for the man he loved, but at the same time he could see the sense in Vlad’s words.

“Whom can we ask for help?” he asked, finally. “Surely we need to keep this quiet?”

“From certain people, yes…but this person, I believe, will be the only one who can find Lucius before either the authorities or…or others catch up with him.”

“Others?” Harry questioned.

“There are numerous of Voldemort’s supporters who are still at large, Harry,” the headmaster said gently. “They are of the opinion that had Lucius stayed at his master’s side, then Voldemort might not have been defeated.”

“But that’s ludicrous! How could they possibly have expected Lucius to stay with Voldemort after the bastard had killed Lucius’ wife and tortured Draco out of his mind?”

Vlad passed a hand over his face. “Blind devotion; there are those who believe Voldemort was justified in his punishment of Narcissa and Draco—that they had betrayed their Master and the cause others held so dear.” Vlad sighed deeply. “Lucius can hide himself, but he can’t hide Draco.”

“Can he not cast a charm at him…or something?” Harry asked tentatively. “I know there are such things as disguise charms.”

Vlad shook his head. “It would be too risky. We don’t know what spells were cast at Draco when…when…anyway, it is impossible to tell if there is anything long-acting that was used…that might react to other spells.”

“I see.”

There was another pause.

“Vlad? Why was Lucius so upset yesterday?”

Yesterday? Was it only yesterday? Suddenly Harry felt overwhelmingly tired. Admittedly he and Lucius had not slept much the night before, but yesterday seemed a hundred years ago.

“Lucius had heard of a doctor in Stockholm—one who was supposed to be an expert in the kind of problems Draco has…withdrawal, possible brain damage, spell shock—a doctor who was discrete and wouldn’t ask too many questions. Anyway, he tried to contact the man—only to find he passed away three weeks ago.”

“We must find Lucius, Vlad, we must find him, and get that pardon. Then we can get whatever help Draco needs, from the best doctors…who is this person who can help? Come on, I need to do something.”

He jumped to his feet once more, and this time Vlad joined him. “First we had both better get dressed, and then I will try to contact Raif.”

 

****

****

Harry spent the day desperately fretting. The forced inactivity strained him to his limits, but for once he obeyed the order that he wasn’t to rush headlong into action. Vlad was determined that they should wait for the man he had summoned, but Harry hadn’t seen the headmaster send an owl, and was at a loss to know how he had contacted the person he was determined was the only one who could help them.

Finally, on the stroke of midnight, a man stepped from the Floo into Durmstrang’s hall. He was tall, broad shouldered, with dark hair that hung to his shoulders. He brought with him an immediate sense of calm, and Harry heard himself let out a deep breath. Somehow, everything seemed more under control and Harry felt the first stirrings of hope. 

The man and Vlad embraced, and then the stranger drew back. “Vlad, it’s good to see you, although I wish the circumstances were different.”

The headmaster too looked more relaxed. “Thank you for coming so quickly, Raif. I wouldn’t have asked you…only our need is desperate. May I introduce Mister Harry Potter?”

The man turned, and Harry found himself gazing into the most piercing blue eyes he had ever seen, and just for a split second he was certain the man scrutinising him could see into his very soul, and knew all his deepest secrets. And what was even more disconcerting was that he found he didn’t mind in the least; in fact, it seemed like a burden had been lifted from his shoulders; this man knew him—and did not mean to judge.

“Harry, this is Raif Yed Prior.”

Harry held out his hand. “Pleased to meet you, Sir. Do you really think you can help us find Lucius?”

Yed Prior smiled a slow smile, and his vivid ice-blue eyes twinkled. “I will do my very best, Harry. And please, call me Raif.”

Harry’s hand was engulfed by one that was slim but capable, and it was as if a warmth spread up his arm and wrapped itself like a comfortable blanket around his insides. 

“Someone needs to sleep,” Raif said quietly, still gazing into Harry’s eyes. 

It may have just been that the events of the day—and his lack of sleep the night before—suddenly caught up with Harry, or it may have been the power of suggestion, but as soon as Raif made the comment, Harry felt his eyes begin to flicker shut. His body sagged as if all his bones had turned to jelly, and he was only vaguely aware of being picked up, before he sank into sleep. 

 

****

****

He awoke to find himself in a strange room. Harry struggled to sit up and orientate himself, then he clambered out of bed. Glancing at his watch, he found that it was five in the morning. He could hear the vague rumble of voices from beyond a door in the far wall, and he made his way to it and out of the bedroom. He found himself in a sitting room, where Vlad and Raif were seated on either side of a roaring fire.

Harry wasn’t sure enough to accuse Raif outright of enchanting him into sleep; after all, the man had uttered no spell that he had heard, had held no wand in his hand—but Harry was still pretty certain that the man had had something to do with his sudden departure from the land of the conscious.

“What’s going on?” he asked, seating himself on the leather sofa that sat between the two chairs.

“Ah, Harry. Awake? I hope you feel refreshed?” Vlad enquired.

“I shouldn’t have slept,” Harry said harshly. “We need to start looking for Lucius—now!” 

“Vlad and I were just discussing that very subject, Harry,” Raif replied calmly. “We were also just about to wake you. I’m sure you agree that it is better to be rested and alert for the job we have in hand?”

Harry leapt to his feet. “We’ve got to stop talking and get looking,” he blazed. “I can’t just sit around any longer, I need to do something.” Harry turned to look for the exit, but a hand on his arm stopped him. 

Raif was at his side, his voice quiet and reasonable. “Be still, Harry. I know how desperate you feel, but believe me, we _do_ need to think before we act. Now come, sit down, and let Vlad and I tell you what we think.” With a firm arm around Harry’s shoulders, Raif guided the young wizard to sit back down on the sofa. As if from nowhere, a mug of tea appeared in Raif’s hand and he handed this to Harry. 

Harry took it reluctantly. He really wanted to be getting on with looking for Lucius, but there was something strangely compelling about Raif that made Harry want to obey him

“Harry,” Vlad began, “Raif and I think it best if we concentrate our efforts in searching for Lucius…and you go to London.”

“No!” Harry protested loudly. “I want to help look. Surely we can cover more ground if the three of us search?”

“The world is a large place, Harry, where would you start looking?” Raif asked reasonably.

“Somewhere…anywhere,” Harry said frantically. “Please, I need to help.”

“You are going to help—in a way neither of us is able to,” Raif explained. “We need you to go to the Ministry and use your influence to get them to issue a pardon for Lucius. Now is the perfect time to do it, don’t you see? You can say with all honesty that you have no idea of Lucius’ whereabouts, should they decide to question you. And think about it, Harry. If anyone can get Arthur Weasley and the Wizengamot to do something which will go totally against the grain for them…that person is you.”

Harry bit his lip, trying desperately to think of a reason why one of the other two should go to London in his place, but he knew Raif was right. If ever there was a time to call in a few favours, it was now. The two older men regarded him anxiously. Finally Harry sighed. “All right, I’ll go. But I don’t know how _you_ intend to find Lucius…the world is a big place, as you say.”

Raif smiled, a slow, confident smile. “Ah, Harry, I have my ways. You do your best at your end, and Vlad and I will do our best at ours.”

 

****

****

Harry Flooed into the great Atrium at the Ministry of Magic after a rather bitter argument with Vlad. Conscious of the length of time it would take to Floo to Bucharest, then on to London, and finally to connect to the Ministry, Harry had proposed that he Apparate the distance. Vlad wouldn’t hear of it.

“No, Harry, it is far too risky and—“

“But I’m sure I can do it,” Harry broke in. “And just think of the time it would save.”

“And just think how unpleasant it would be, having to retrieve bits of you from all over Europe, should you fail. Don’t you think we have enough to do, trying to find Lucius and Draco, without having to find parts of you as well?”

“I’ll be fine, I’m sure of it.”

“No,” Vlad said firmly.

Harry stuck his chin out. “I don’t see how you can stop me.”

“Wards,” Vlad said simply. “I have the password that controls the castle wards…and if I say you don’t Apparate…then you don’t Apparate.”

They glared at one another.

“Then I’ll Floo to Arelsbadd and Apparate from there,” Harry said belligerently. 

“Don’t be a fool,” Vlad returned, his voice rising. “Have you any idea how far it is from there to London? That bit further than from _here_ to London…and here is far further than any wizard has Apparated before.”

“I’m not just any wizard,” Harry retorted with a rare flash of pride.

“I’m well aware of that,” Vlad said through clenched teeth, “but there is such a thing as _overestimating_ one’s capabilities, even for a wizard as ‘great’ as yourself.”

Raif had observed the argument from the sidelines, and now he spoke up. “The simple fact of the matter is, Harry, that whilst, yes, you probably _are_ capable of Apparating the distance, I’m afraid you are simply too valuable to risk. Should the worst happen, our chance of getting that pardon for Lucius and Draco goes from slim to none.”

He spoke with quiet calmness, but Harry immediately saw the sense of his words. “I’m sorry, I didn’t think. Of course I’ll Floo. If I go now, I should get there by late morning…if the Floo isn’t too busy.”

Vlad looked rather abashed. “I’m sorry we argued, Harry…I really just had your safety in mind.”

Harry grinned. “It’s okay, I know you did. I’m just so desperate to get things sorted out,” he added, his face becoming serious. “I’ll see you back here this evening, all right? You will be here?” he asked anxiously.

Raif smiled at him. “We’ll be here, Harry. Now, go on…and good luck.”

“Good luck to you two as well.” With a last raise of his hand, Harry turned and made his way down from Vlad’s rooms to the dining hall and the Floo connection.

 

__

****

The Ministry was bustling with people when Harry finally arrived, just after ten o’clock that morning. The Floo had been relatively quiet and he had managed to make the connections with very little delay.

He made his way through the crowds, aware that eyes followed him, and that his presence at the Ministry had caused a murmur of speculative conversation to start up in his wake. Passing through the wand weighing procedure, Harry made his way up to Arthur Weasley’s office.

When he had been appointed to the position of Minister of Magic—much to his surprise—Arthur had tried to insist that he keep his old broom cupboard of an office. He had been persuaded otherwise, and was quickly installed in a generously proportioned room on one of the more prestigious floors of the Ministry Building.

Harry was granted an audience with the Minister of Magic with surprising ease. As soon as he had indicated who it was he had come to see, a message had been dispatched to inform Mr Weasley of his imminent arrival. 

Thus it was that when Harry entered the reception room outside the Minister’s office, Arthur Weasley was there to greet him. He did so with a slightly preoccupied air.

“Ah, Harry. It’s good to see you. I thought you had returned to Durmstrang?”

Harry nodded. “I had, but there is something I need to speak to you about.”

Mr Weasley led the way into his office, and waved Harry to a chair. “Sit down, Harry, let’s have a cup of tea.”

Arthur took his seat behind his desk, and frowned as he shifted a pile of papers to one side. He sighed heavily.

“Something wrong?” Harry enquired worriedly. The last thing he needed was for Arthur Weasley to be having problems with something else, when what Harry had to ask him was no easy thing.

Arthur sighed again, and ran one hand distractedly through his thinning hair. “Oh, it’s nothing really.” He paused, then added suddenly, “It’s just that we keep getting applications and petitions from the families of those Death Eaters who purportedly left He Who… _Voldemort_ , before the end, and of their own volition.”

Harry bit back a gasp.

“It seems their relations think they should now be pardoned and allowed to return to their families. Most of them are on the run or in hiding,” he added, by way of explanation, “and of course, as most of He Who Must Not… _Voldemort’s_ supporters were of pure-blood, most of the families concerned are both wealthy and influential. There could be trouble if we don’t come to some agreement with them.” Arthur’s brow furrowed.

“I think it’s a good idea,” Harry said, as calmly as he could. He couldn’t believe the coincidence of Arthur bringing up the very topic he had come to discuss.

Arthur stared at him in amazement. “You do?” has asked incredulously.

Harry thought fast. “Yes. I think it will demonstrate to everyone that you think the Ministry is once again in charge of things, and secure in its position. It will also show a degree of forgiveness. Those ex-Death Eaters,” he stressed the word ‘ex’, “are far less likely to cause trouble if they are permitted to return to those they love. And besides,” he added with a half smile, “what’s the saying? Keep you friends close…your enemies closer? Better that those whose intentions might be questionable, be out in full view, than hiding away somewhere, seething with resentment.” 

Harry went silent, aware that he perhaps shouldn’t say too much, or appear too keen on the idea. He watched the play of emotions across Arthur Weasley face and waited to see what the older wizard’s reaction would be.

“Hmm,” Arthur said finally. “I have to say you have a point, Harry—especially the bit about keeping your enemies closer. I don’t know,” he went on reflectively, “I have to say I can see the sense in what you have to say…but there will be many who won’t…or who will pretend that they don’t. Perhaps,” he continued, speaking more to himself now than Harry, “there might be a way…”

Harry held his breath.

“Maybe if people knew that you supported the granting of a pardon to those Death Eaters who could prove they had left He Who Mu… _Voldemort_ before the end?”

Perhaps for the first time since Lucius had begun to teach him about it, Harry realised that he truly believed in the old magic. It was as if some greater force were guiding the way the meeting was going…helping him in his quest. 

He took a deep breath. “If I can be of any be of assistance at all, Mr Weasley, I’d be happy to help.”

Arthur looked at him speculatively. “We’d have to work fast—the Wizengamot meets in two days time…and Molly’ll have my head.” He frowned suddenly. “But why, Harry? You of all people have reason to never forgive those who stood against you.”

Harry debated with himself over just how much he should tell Arthur Weasley; there was part of him that suggested he tell the whole truth, but something else held him back. He wasn’t entirely sure about Mr Weasley’s attitude towards homosexuality, but one thing he did know: that if Arthur found out who he, Harry, was in love with, then hell would freeze over before he helped Lucius to regain his freedom. 

“I think it’s time to move on,” Harry said at last. “Whilst we should never forget what happened, I think it’s time we put it behind us. Lessons need to be learnt, but I think it’s time to forgive those who…who perhaps made unfortunate, foolish decisions, but who then saw the error of their ways.” He shrugged. “That’s just my own opinion.”

“And a very mature one, at that,” Mr Weasley commented. “Well, if you are sure you want to go through with this?”

Harry nodded. “Yes, I do. I’ll help however I can.”

Arthur got to his feet. “Right, there are some people we need to see.”

 

****

****

Arthur Weasley surprised Harry. It turned out the man was both a strategist and a diplomat. For the rest of the day, he and Harry toured around the Ministry of Magic, ostensibly on a sight-seeing trip for Harry, but the expedition took in many of the senior members of the Ministry staff and members of the Wizengamot. Arthur never directly brought up the topic of a pardon for the ex-Death Eaters, but somehow or other the conversation was always brought around to the subject, and Harry soon learnt his cue as to when to add his own opinion on the matter.

They were met by a range of reactions, varying from outright condemnation of the idea, to wholehearted support. Sadly, the former response was more common than the latter.

By the time five o’clock came around, and the Ministry began to empty of its inhabitants, Harry was bone-weary and had a headache. He and Arthur had returned to the latter’s office and were seated, one on either side of Mr Weasley’s desk. They stared at one another. Finally Arthur said, “Well, I knew it wasn’t going to be easy.”

Harry pulled a rueful face. “No, I didn’t think it was going to be either, but still…I suppose we just keep trying.”

“You mean you’re willing to continue with this?” Arthur asked doubtfully.

“Absolutely,” Harry said firmly. “There must be people we haven’t seen yet, and people who were undecided when we saw them today?”

Mr Weasley nodded. “There are quite a number we haven’t seen. If you’re sure about wanting to go through with this, Harry, then we can try again tomorrow.”

Harry got to his feet. “I’ll see you in the morning.” He turned to go.

“Oh, Harry,” Arthur called. “I quite forgot…what was it you wanted to speak to me about?”

Harry shook his head. “Oh, nothing important. See you tomorrow.”

When Harry reached the Atrium, there were long queues at each of the Floo points. He bit his lip; he was so tempted to use the nearby Apparition point, that he moved several steps in its direction before he was brought up short by an echo of Vlad’s words from that morning. Desperate as he was to return to Durmstrang, to see if Vlad and Raif had been successful or not in locating Lucius, Harry turned and reluctantly joined the queue at one of the Floo connections. 

Four hours later, when Harry tumbled out of the Floo into Durmstrang’s dining hall, both Vlad and Raif were waiting for him. They both rose to their feet from where they had been seated at one of the round tables by the fire.

Vlad greeted him. “Welcome home, Harry. I bet you’re hungry. Come, we’ll arrange for some supper once we are settled.” Rising from his seat, he led the way from the dining hall towards his apartment.

On the way Harry asked, “So I guess you’ve not found Lucius and Draco yet, then?”

Vlad shook his head. “No, but don’t lose hope,” he added on seeing Harry’s face fall. “It is early days yet, and if anyone can find Lucius, it is Raif.”

Harry glanced back at the tall figure following them down the corridor. In an undertone he said, “Just how is he going to find Lucius, Vlad?”

Vlad smiled. “Raif and Lucius are very old friends, Harry. They have an uncommon link to each other.”

Harry felt a pang of jealousy course through him.

“Raif can…well, I suppose the best way to describe it would be to say that Raif can _sense_ Lucius…can feel if he is close by.”

“But how close does he have to be?” Harry demanded, dismayed. “Lucius could be anywhere in the world. How on earth is Raif going to find him if he has to be close to him?”

“I personally don’t think Lucius will be as far away as you think,” Raif said from Harry’s side. “I can sense him if he is anywhere up to a hundred miles away from me, and I only need to test a spot for a moment to tell if he is nearby.”

“But still…it’s going to take ages.” Harry’s desperation had returned now that he knew the enormity of the task Raif and Vlad had before them. He couldn’t say just how he had thought that the two older wizards might be searching for Lucius, but now that he did know, he thought the method was very much like looking for a bat in a coal cellar. Another thought struck him. “You’re relying on him staying in the same place. What if you check somewhere, then the next day he turns up?”

Raif laid a hand on Harry’s arm. “I’m sorry we do not have a better way to find them, Harry, but it’s the only way we have, and we will keep searching until we succeed. I promise you, Harry, we will find Lucius and Draco.”

Harry gazed into the intense blue eyes that looked down at him, and felt a surge of calmness—similar to the feeling he’d had when Raif first arrived—run through his body. He nodded. “I’m sorry. It’s just…I need him,” he said simply.

Raif smiled his slow smile. “Trust me, Harry, things will work out.”

They continued on to Vlad’s rooms and there the headmaster ordered three trays of food to be brought up. As soon as they appeared, Harry realised how hungry he was; he set to with gusto. Over the meal Harry told Vlad and Raif about his day. He made a point to mention his feeling that the old magic was in some way influencing what had happened. “I couldn’t believe it…I mean, what are the chances that Mr Weasley would be thinking about the very subject I went there to ask him about?”

Vlad and Raif exchanged a look. “I suppose it’s possible,” Raif said slowly, “although as far as I am aware, the old magic that is present in England, sleeps.”

“Unless it has been woken,” Vlad commented darkly.

Harry was too busy tucking into an apple and cinnamon pie with vanilla ice-cream, to notice the serious look the two older wizards shared.

 

****

****

For the next two days, Harry and Arthur Weasley worked tirelessly to drum up support for the proposition that those Death Eaters who could prove they had left Voldemort at least six months before the final battle, and of their own free will, were to be pardoned.

Raif had given them some ammunition to use in their campaign. Before Harry had departed on the morning of the second day, the older wizard had casually mentioned how expensive it must be for the Ministry to have so many criminals on its “wanted” list. He followed this pronouncement with a ghost of a wink, and the first thing Harry did on reaching Arthur’s office, was to nonchalantly mention this fact to Mr Weasley. 

It surprised Harry how the mention of expense was more of a persuasive argument to a large number of the Wizengamot, than any amount of altruistic ideals. By the end of the second day, he was feeling considerably more encouraged. 

Still, by eight o’clock in the evening of the third day, his stomach was knotting as he sat, in the seats reserved for observers, in the great chamber where the Wizengamot met. He knew the vote would be very close, but all he could do now was trust that he and Arthur had done enough…and silently plead for help to whatever old magic might be awake and listening.

The members of the Wizengamot filed slowly into the stone chamber, swathed in their deep plum-coloured robes. There was a faint hum of conversation as the members took their seats, and then the meeting was brought to order.

Harry had to sit, his tension increasing as each minute passed, through several tedious items of business, before Arthur put forward the motion to pardon those Death Eaters who fit a certain criteria. He went on to detail exactly what those criteria would be, and Harry scanned the rows of faces, trying to determine which way the vote would go.

There was much debate, but finally the vote was taken, and a decree to pardon was granted. Harry grinned so hard he felt his face might fall in half; Lucius and Draco were free. As soon as the Wizengamot’s decision was made public, Lucius and his son could come out of hiding.

Harry Flooed back to Durmstrang, bursting to tell Vlad and Raif of his good news.

 

****

****

Harry lay comfortably ensconced on the leather sofa in Vlad’s sitting room. Having completed his mission to get a pardon for Lucius and Draco so quickly, the urgency had gone out of the situation, and Harry was sure all he needed to do was sit and wait for the Malfoys to hear about the news, and come out of hiding.

He dozed, his mind half on the low conversation between Raif and Vlad, half on Lucius…until a spoken word penetrated his reverie.

“That’s the book I gave to Lucius,” he said sleepily.

The sudden pregnant silence that greeted his words caused him to crack open one eyelid. Both older wizards were staring at him.

“What did you say?” Raif asked, his face serious.

Harry opened the other eye. “I said, ‘that’s the book I gave to Lucius…the Emaris.”

“You gave the Emaris to Lucius?” Vlad repeated.

“Yes…as a present when I came back from England.” He sat up. “What’s wrong?”

“Are you sure it was the Emaris?” Raif asked intently.

“Yes…at least, that’s what Lucius called it. I didn’t know when I bought it. Only, the man in the shop said it was rare, and then Lucius told me it was one of only three.” He grinned. “He was pretty pleased with it.”

Raif shot a look at Vlad. “If Lucius has the Emaris, he has the full ceremony of Rerisen.”

“The what?” Harry asked.

“Are you sure?” Vlad demanded, his eyes wide.

Raif nodded. “Very sure. And you know what tonight is?” 

Vlad frowned, and then his eyes went wide. “The Eve of Melinor… No, he wouldn’t?”

“The eve of what? What wouldn’t he do?” Harry demanded.

“If he’s desperate enough, he may,” Raif said, jumping to his feet and beginning to pace the room. “He won’t have heard about the pardon yet…he may consider the ceremony necessary. If Draco was Rerisen… If the ceremony worked….”

“If Draco was what?” Harry interjected. “What ceremony?”

“Then Draco would return to his former self, and Lucius would be able to hide them both more effectively,” Vlad finished.

The two older wizards stared at each other across the room.

“Where is the moon?” Vlad said suddenly.

“In the sky?” Harry hazarded, becoming increasingly annoyed. 

Apparently Raif’s face gave the headmaster his answer, because he let out a groan. “Surely not?”

“What’s going on?” Harry asked again.

He was ignored again. “But where?” Vlad asked desperately. “We must stop him. He must not wake the old magic.”

Raif paced, his brow furrowed, then a look of horrified suspicion crept over his handsome features. “The Edge,” he said in a near whisper.

“The edge of what?” Harry cut in.

“Merlin, no! If he wakes what sleeps _there_ …” Vlad left the sentence unfinished.

“It is the place where the old magic sleeps lightest…and where it will be strongest when woken. Lucius never does things by halves,” Raif added.

“SOMEONE TELL ME WHAT’S GOING ON!” Harry shouted.

Both older wizards turned to him, a look of shock on their faces. Then Raif spoke urgently. “We think Lucius is about to perform a ceremony called Rerisen in an attempt to restore Draco to his full mind. It is usually performed to repair the body and the mind of a dead person.”

Harry’s eyes went wide. “But Draco’s not dead.”

“Not yet,” the headmaster said with a worried frown. “And we must hurry to make sure he stays that way.”

We need to go…and we need to go now!” Raif said, glancing at his watch. “Vlad, I’ll take you first, you know The Edge and the places Lucius might select to perform the ritual. The gods know there are enough of them to chose from on the damn place.”

Vlad stood and crossed into Raif’s arms in two strides—a second later and both men had vanished, leaving Harry staring at the bare patch of carpet and grinding his teeth in frustration.

For five minutes he retraced the course of Raif’s pacing, each minute seeming to last a lifetime, until, silently, Raif appeared once more.

“Come!” He beckoned to Harry urgently, and Harry raced to his side to be enveloped by Raif’s arms.

The Apparition was like none Harry had ever experienced before. There was no unpleasant breathless squeezing, just a smooth, silent ride into the unknown. They landed with barely a judder, and Harry opened his eyes.

 

****

****

From what Harry could see in the darkness, they were standing on the top of a steep mound, at the crest of which had been built a low stone plinth. Around them trees swayed in the wind.

“There is no time to waste, Harry,” Raif said hurriedly, from by Harry’s side. “We must search for Lucius—he is here, I can sense him, but I can’t pinpoint his location. “You go that way,” he ordered, pointing to a path that ran from the foot of the mound, and away between the trees. “I’ll go this way. Harry, you must stop Lucius from whatever he is doing, do you understand? It’s very important. If you have any trouble, call—either Vlad or I will try to get to you.”

The older wizard took two strides down the mound before he turned back. “Oh, and, Harry? Watch where you step—the ground in this place has an uncomfortable habit of disappearing beneath one’s feet.” Then Raif turned away again and hurried off into the darkness.

With a quickly whispered, “Lumos,” Harry conjured up a light, and then, taking a deep breath, he hastened down the mound to the path that Raif had indicated.

As he hurried along the trail, Harry kept glancing to either side. He had never been afraid of the dark before, but there was something in this place that made him nervous. The wind—that came from everywhere and nowhere—was gathering strength, and the trees, through which the path wound, tossed about in the turbulence with a rushing noise that grew steadily louder. It tore at Harry’s clothes and pushed and pulled at him as he struggled along the track.

There was magic here, Harry could feel it, but it was like no magic he had ever felt before: it laughed at him from behind the trunks of trees; scampered ahead of him through the tall branches; hid in depressions alongside the path and watched him as he passed. Harry began to hurry; there was an increasing sense of urgency and anticipation in the air, as whatever power had been woken began to build.

Harry couldn’t say what instinct caused him to halt suddenly, but holding his wand out in front of him, he realised that the ground had disappeared. A foot in front of his feet there was nothing but blackness. Lowering his wand, Harry attempted to see if he could see the bottom of the hole; his light lit up nothing but moss-greened sheer rock walls that plummeted into darkness. Slowly Harry made his way carefully around the edge of the pit, until once more he caught sight of a pathway.

All this time the wind had been growing more forceful. Now it stopped with an abruptness that left behind a silence that was as shocking as the noise had been. For a few moments there was complete and utter stillness, then the air began to pulse with a rhythm that was sickeningly like the thumping of a great heart.

The blood pounded in sympathy in Harry’s head, keeping pace with the relentless beat, and the young wizard fought on through the ever more alien-feeling woodland. From time to time his wand-light would illuminate rock faces, in which dark holes gaped like the maw of some monstrous beast. Harry increased his already hurried pace past these openings, afraid that his light might just reflect back from the eyes of something looking out at him from the darkness.

The second time Harry came across a drop in the ground, he wasn’t so lucky. He was so busy scanning the surrounding woods for any sign of Lucius and Draco, that he didn’t notice the hole until he had fallen over the edge. Luckily the hollow was not as deep as the one that he had come across earlier, but still, Harry was winded and shocked when he brought up short at the bottom on a bed of pine needles and dead leaves. 

He drew a deep, shaky breath, then shone his light around the hole to discover a way out. On three sides he was hemmed in by vertical sandstone walls, all of which bore the trace of ancient tools; the fourth side sloped steeply up to the rim of the hole, a little above the height of Harry’s head. He clambered out on hands and knees, and continued on with his search, taking extra care now to watch where he put his feet.

He came upon the clearing suddenly. One moment he was walking through a dense stand of trees, the next he was standing at the edge of a clear circle of ground. In the centre of the circle was a low rock...and on the stone, lying on his back and seeming as if he were asleep, was Draco. Beyond the rock was Lucius, dressed in a long white robe...and in his hand he held a knife. Its long, silver blade reflected the light from the stars.

Harry watched, almost mesmerised, as Lucius raised the knife above him, then, realising what the blonde wizard was about to do, Harry called out. “No, Lucius, stop. You must stop.” He made as if to advance into the clearing, but was repulsed by some kind of invisible force field. Then Harry saw Lucius’ lips begin to move and realised that the barrier was preventing any sound from reaching him...and if he couldn’t hear Lucius, then Lucius couldn’t hear him. 

Desperately, Harry tried to force open the wall of magic that effectively cut him off from the older wizard, but try as he might, using all his power, he was unable to make an impression on it. He had to watch helplessly as Lucius continued on with the ceremony he was in the midst of performing.

The pounding ceased suddenly, and now the air around Harry began to sing with magic. Slowly, from behind the trees, a sliver of new moon began to rise into the sky over the clearing. Lucius stood tall in the faint silver light, his hair gleaming white blonde. Inexorably the moon rose until it stood directly over the stone alter where Draco lay...then Lucius brought down the knife.

It dropped uselessly to the floor where Lucius had thrown it, and now he sagged to his knees, dropping his head down onto Draco’s chest. Harry could see from the shaking of the man’s shoulders that he was crying.

Harry tried once more to force his way through to Lucius—and this time the barrier gave way before him. He hurried across the clearing to the older wizard’s side, and reached down to draw Lucius to his feet and into Harry’s arms.

Suddenly, from all around them, came a sound like a thousand tiny bells, and the sky over the clearing filled with what appeared to be silver snow. Harry turned his face up in wonder as the little flecks drifted down to land gently on his face, each tiny speck like an ice-cold kiss on his skin.

Lucius clung to him. “I couldn’t do it…I couldn’t bear the thought that it might not work and I would lose my son forever,” he sobbed.

Harry held him tightly. “It’s okay, it’s over now.”

Lucius pulled away and looked down at Harry, his eyes blurry with tears that shone silver in the faint moonlight. “I can’t run anymore, Harry. You must do as you see fit.”

“But you don’t have to run anymore,” Harry said urgently. “Earlier tonight the Wizengamot granted a pardon to any former Death Eater who qualifies…both you and Draco are free.” He watched the wonder dawn on Lucius’ face.

“Free?” the older wizard repeated.

Harry grinned and nodded. “Free…free to do whatever you want....to stay in England.”

Lucius frowned, then shook his head. “No,” he said slowly. “I won’t do that…there is nothing for me here…” he broke off at the sound of a faint groan from Draco, and, turning from Harry, he hurried to his son. Harry stood, shocked and stunned, and watched as Lucius gently covered Draco with a cloak that had been folded up on the ground nearby.

So Lucius didn’t want him. He should have expected as much, but Harry had thought the night they had spent together was the beginning of their relationship—not, as it now appeared, the end. As Vlad and Raif hurried into the clearing, Harry Disapparated, desperate to get away…to get home.

 

****

*****

****

Epilogue

Harry slashed viciously at the brambles that had taken up residence at the bottom of the little patch of garden behind the house. It had been ten days since he had fled The Edge, and the hurt had lessened not one iota.

Ron had been sitting in the kitchen of Godric’s Hollow when Harry had stumbled into the house. He took one look at his friend and, remaining thankfully silent, poured Harry a large measure of firewhiskey, then made his friend drink it down in one.

Then Harry had cried, deep sobs that shook his body and tore at his throat, as all his misery came pouring out. Ron had sat by his friend, one arm slung around Harry’s shoulders, and let the dark haired wizard cry himself into silence. He hadn’t asked Harry was what wrong, he had merely said, “I’m here if you need to...you know, chat, or anything.”

Harry had nodded mutely, trying to force a smile onto his tear-drenched face, then he had stumbled out of the kitchen and upstairs to his bed—where he had stayed for two days, the covers over his head in an attempt to deny the existence of the world.

On the third day he had forced himself to get up. He knew he couldn’t face going back to Durmstrang yet, where memories of Lucius would haunt his rooms, the corridors, the dining hall, the duelling room. Presumably Lucius and Draco would soon be moving on. Harry assumed they would perhaps find some nice property somewhere, where Draco could feel safe and happy, and where he could get the best medical help.

The thought of a life empty of Lucius was awful to contemplate. But Harry knew he only had himself to blame; how could he ever have thought Lucius would chose him as a partner, after what Harry had put him through? Harry realised now that that last night they had spent together had been Lucius’ way of saying goodbye, not, as he had thought at the time, the beginning of something between them.

That had been a week ago, a week during which he had mooned morosely about the place, refusing to see anyone or go anywhere. Finally his misery had evinced itself in a sudden need for activity, and now he was taking it out on the innocent patch of brambles. It was hot, and Harry had removed his shirt when it had quickly become drenched in sweat. His hair hung in soaked rat tails, sticking to his forehead and clumping clammily at the back of his neck.

He swung wildly with the bill-hook again, decapitating a particularly large bramble that had, a moment before, scratched a livid streak down his chest.

“My, my, what _have_ those poor weeds done to annoy?”

Harry spun round. Lucius had approached silently down the garden and now stood behind him, one eyebrow raised in query.

Harry had never felt such a surge of conflicting emotions. He wanted to cry, to be sick, to throw himself into Lucius’ arms, all at the same time. He dashed the back of his hand over his eyes, trying to convince himself that the moisture he encountered there was sweat, and not tears. “What are you doing here?” he asked finally. Then he added, with a flash of concern, “Where’s Ron?”

“I assume he is still standing, gaping, on the doormat, where I left him,” Lucius remarked, turning to cast his eye over the small garden, and the patch of devastation that Harry had wrought with his bill-hook. “As for what I am doing here…” He returned his gaze to Harry. “I might ask you the same question.” His silver eyes bored into Harry’s.

“I live here, remember.”

“But you had returned to Durmstrang.”

“And now I’ve come home again.”

“I see.”

There was a brief silence as Lucius regarded Harry steadily, and Harry tried to look anywhere but into Lucius’ grey eyes.

“So,” he said eventually, “what _are_ you doing here?”

“I came to see why my partner in crime, so to speak, has abandoned his post.”

Harry raised his eyes. “Your…partner in crime?”

“I can hardly teach both Offence and _Defence_ subjects, now can I?”

“But, surely you won’t be teaching anymore… You’re free.”

Lucius looked rueful. “Ah, yes. Free, but unfortunately still penniless. It seems the Ministry considers my money and estates their just reward for pardoning me…something I believe you had quite a hand in organising?”

Harry shrugged. So Lucius would be remaining at the school; now he knew he could _never_ return. He couldn’t bear going through the same torment as he had before—that of seeing Lucius every day; only now he knew for _certain_ that Lucius was never going to return his love.

“Besides,” Lucius went on. “I find I have quite an aptitude for teaching, and although I hesitate to admit it, I actually quite enjoy it. Also, Draco is happy at Durmstrang, and what makes Draco happy, makes me happy.”

Harry scuffed his toe on the ground, fixing his attention on a patch of nettles that had somehow escaped his wave of destruction. 

Lucius took a step towards him. “Harry?” he asked quietly, “what’s changed between us?” The older wizard’s face was serious, his brows drawn down in puzzlement.

Harry took a deep breath, and swallowed hard. “I’m sorry, I understand that you don’t want me…and I just don’t think I can…you know… Not when I’d see you all the time…and…” He broke off, sniffling, and desperately searching his pockets for a handkerchief. A square of white cotton was pressed into his hand. Harry took it gratefully and blew his nose. “Anyway…so…I won’t be coming back,” he finished, turning quickly to hurl the bill-hook into the middle of the remaining clump of brambles.

“What on earth made you think I didn’t want you?” Lucius asked.

“You said—back on The Edge—that you weren’t going to come back to England because…” Harry fought back the tears. “Because there was nothing here for you.”

“And neither was there. I was presuming that you would be returning to Durmstrang.” 

For a moment Harry stared at Lucius, his mind whirling, then all of a suddenly he felt incredibly foolish. He had been so ready to believe that Lucius couldn’t possibly want him, that it had never occurred to him to look for any other meaning in Lucius’ words. He began to feel a faint stirring of hope. 

“Oh, Harry, is that why you left so suddenly? Because you thought I was rejecting you?” An expression of relief appeared on Lucius face. “I thought it was because you were appalled at what I so nearly did.”

Harry raised his eyes again, to look into Lucius’ grey ones, and he shook his head vigorously. “No, it wasn’t that. I knew you were only doing what you thought was best for Draco.”

Lucius let out a deep breath. “Thank Merlin! I was sure my actions that night had killed any feelings you might have had for me.”

Harry’s heart began to beat wildly. If Lucius was concerned about how Harry felt about him...then perhaps? Another thought occurred to him. “But, but how can you ever forgive _me_?” he asked desperately.

Lucius frowned. “Forgive you for what?”

“For…for, you know…making you come to me?”

Lucius laughed. “Very Slytherin of you, I thought. Harry, the contract worked both ways. Of course I didn’t like it—in the beginning—but I trusted the Gryffindor side of you to uphold your end of the bargain, so I knew that Draco and I were safe, for the time being. Harry, you forget I am a Slytherin; I would probably have done the same thing myself. So, really there is nothing to forgive.”

“But…I just did exactly what you accused me of, when we argued in Arelsbadd…going to any lengths to get what I wanted.” 

“Yes, you did, didn’t you?” Lucius smiled. “I have to admit there was a sneaking part of me that was rather gratified that you thought my body worth defying the Aurors and the Order over.”

“It wasn’t just your body,” Harry said quickly. “It was all of you,” he added sincerely. “I love you.”

Lucius regarded him seriously. “I am not a man you should love, Harry.”

Harry’s heart sank. So Lucius was going to reject him after all. Then Lucius continued.

“If we do attempt a relationship, you can be sure there will be times when I will make you miserable, times I will make you angry, times you will wish to leave me…”

“Never,” Harry said vehemently.

Lucius reached out and cupped Harry’s cheek with his palm, drawing the young wizard toward him. “I am a hard man to love, Harry.”

Harry grinned. “Nah, you’re a challenge…and I love challenges.”

 

****

FIN

**Author’s Notes**

So, there it is. And if you will indulge me for just a few moments longer, I would just like to say one or two ‘thank yous’.

Firstly, and most importantly, to my wonderful friend and beta, RaeWhit. Once again she has put up with my appalling grammar, been patient with me through my bouts of insecurity, and been the best friend anyone could hope to have. Thank you, Honey, for everything.

Secondly, I would like to thank all those lovely readers who have been with me from the beginning, and who have been kind enough to take the time to consistently review. Your words of encouragement and support have meant a great deal to me. Thank you.

And to all those of you who have read TRM and not commented…I may not have heard your voices, but I’ve seen your numbers! Thanks then go to the silent majority!

Finally (I promise!)…The Edge is a real place, and whilst during the day it is busy with walkers and sight-seers, at night, just as dusk is falling and the shadows start to creep beneath the trees, then it becomes a place of magic and mystery. 

 

Cheers, “Sorted into Slytherin” Sestra.x.x.x


End file.
